


A Tax On Blood

by daltonandes



Category: Bandom, Fearless Vampire Killers (Band)
Genre: AU, Blood, Choking, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Fighting Kink, Gore, Homophobic Language, M/M, Masochism, Sadism, Serial Killers, Violence, dom!Laurence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:50:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 39,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4008256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daltonandes/pseuds/daltonandes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurence Beveridge is a precise, untraceable, and uncatchable serial killer. Kier Kemp is a normal tax collector. When their paths cross, he and his best friend Drew get caught up in his madness - and thrown into a neverending nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Nightmare Begins

Laurence's sixth victim is a man named Luke Illingworth. 

A coworker of his. And an asshole. An asshole who knew too much. Laurence wanted revenge, and revenge he would get. Luke is so cocky, even while Laurence is holding a blade to his pale neck and threatening to cut the first vein he feels.

But Luke's cockiness does indeed disappear soon enough, as Laurence takes the blade away and tightens the binds on Luke's arms and chest.

"Don't try to test me." Laurence spits at Luke, saliva landing on his cheekbone. "You'll only fail." 

Luke isn't like his other victims. He stares at Laurence with aged brown eyes, eyes that have seen death, and tragedy, and nights of sadness. Eyes that have seen it all. He almost looks unfazed.

It hits Laurence hard...for a few seconds at least, but then he resumes.

"There are always men like you." Luke finally says with a sigh. "Men who play god. Tamper with the great escape."  
He's not scared. Hell, he's not even moving and it sure is getting to Laurence.

Laurence twitches, his already widened eyes getting bigger. He grips Luke's shoulders, clothed in a scratchy black sweater with a logo stitched onto the left breast. 

"Tell me what you mean!" Laurence growls.

Luke takes a breath. "I mean, you're not the first serial killer in the world. In fact, you're apt to be one of the last."

Laurence slits his throat without another word, for he's heard enough. He watches the dark blood pool at Luke's collarbones before he rips the rest of his neck out with his teeth. He gouges Luke's eyes, and then moves to face Luke's back. He leaves the knife stuck between Luke's shoulder-blades.

He was gone, taken care of. Laurence didn't have to worry about him anymore.

Laurence leaves Luke's body in the stained and ripping leather chair, for the time being. He gets on his knees before it with his hands covering his face. A shudder erupts through his body.

"Forgive me, father."

 

 

Laurence's thoughts flash back to his father first.

He was a decent man, good in most ways but despicable in others. He cheated on his wife many times, which put such a strain on the family that Laurence still remembered creeping into the kitchen late at night in his pajamas. He'd listen to his mother cry and his father try to calm her but manage to still sound incredibly pissed off. And then he heard a smack and knew he had hit her. Twice. Then a third time. And then she'd stop crying, maybe hit him back. It scared him more than the words they fought with, especially when she hit back.

That situation happened too many times for Laurence to count, and every time the images would flash before his eyes he'd twitch. It was involuntary now - even 20 years after it happened. His whole body would twitch.

 

Laurence was no more than eight when his father killed his mother in front of him. Murdered her in cold blood. Laurence didn't remember how he did it or what he used to kill her; or even why he did it. 

But he just remembered that the blood kept flowing, so much blood, so much fucking blood - all over the white kitchen tile, the wooden counter, her soft yellow cotton dress. The dead look in her eyes as she collapsed.

Yes, no more than eight, young Laurence stared at his dad, and croaked out a weak and close-to-tears, "Daddy? What did you do to mommy? Why? Why did you hurt her?"

And his father knelt down, his hands bathed in her blood, his mother's blood - not even a minute after murdering her - and looked at his son, putting a hand on his shoulder and leaving a blood-stained hand print on his pajama shirt. Pajamas his mother had bought for him.

And his father didn't say a word.

Laurence's vision blurred in remembering but directly after that it's very fuzzy. He distinctly remembered the cops in blue coming to their house and taking his father away. They said he'd be locked up for a long time and naive Laurence thought maybe he'd be there for a few months to a year.

 

Murdered in prison. That was what Laurence was told when he was thirteen.

He was living with his uncle Charlie, and uncle Charlie told him exactly that. His dad wasn't coming back, he was dead, for fuck's sake.  
And Goddamn him, the woman killer. Bottom of the food chain, only a step above the rapists and the child molesters. It was about time he died.

Uncle Charlie would say that all the time in a drunken stature, sitting in his recliner with the TV remote in one hand and a glass of rum in the other.

"They got 'im good, Lau. He's dead fo' good. Couldn't last a measly minute, the pansy."

And Laurence believed him, believed every word Charlie said, because what kind of man murders his own wife in front of his kid. A pansy, that's who.  
He hated him. Goddamn him.

 

Uncle Charlie wasn't a bad man. He was fairly good, God-fearing, but a drunk to boot. He lived out in the country with a few neighbors, but had no farm animals, just a bunch of junked cars in the pasture.

Laurence would scrounge for food and sometimes there wouldn't be any in the pantry because of Charlie blowing it on lottery tickets and those gold colored bottles of Jack Daniels. It wasn't a temporary thing. 

When Laurence was fifteen, an article in the newspaper told him otherwise. He found out his father had died in prison, but by banging his temples against the metal bars before hanging himself right in his cell. He wasn't the only inmate to commit suicide, but he was the only one who mattered to Laurence.

Charlie had lied to him - his father had been alive all the time Laurence thought he was dead, and then he committed suicide of all things.

Not murdered. Never murdered. His father was invincible.  
Laurence was sure that was about the time he learned to idolize his father. And also when his mental processes started tipping on edge.

 

He killed Charlie when he was sixteen. Charlie was the first person he ever killed, and every murderer always remembers their first kill.

Laurence sure remembers it. The adrenaline rush. The sweat breaking out over his back. The saliva foaming over his lips as he licked it away with a dry tongue.

With an axe from the shed that Charlie used to chop wood with, that was the end of his uncle. He made another comment about his father and this time, Laurence didn't agree and nod. He came up behind his uncle casually, standing over him in his normal recliner, and bludgeoned Charlie's face with three whacks. What a different response.

Laurence washed off the axe carefully, put it back in the shed and carried Charlie's body out to the shed with it, very casually. He put it on the ground, seeing a wood chipper. He knew immediately what to do.

And his father's voice played in his head as he moved it out to the yard, initialized the machine, and tossed the corpse into it.

It was amazing to him - bullets and chips of flesh and blood, crushed bone and guts. Flying down like ashes after a fire, like snow. 

Laurence's arms opened and he found himself twirling around in the remains like it was rain falling from the sky and not the remains of his betraying uncle. The man who took care of him. The man who was now dead.

That was how it all began.


	2. Kier

Kier Kemp has the most unusual job as of the present day. 

A measly tax collector of all things. You would think with his math and science college degrees he could go into accounting or even bank telling. But tax collecting? Measly.

Kier’s short for his age, smokes a lot, and dyes his hair so much it thins. That’s his aesthetic, mostly. He does have a labret piercing, and maybe a nipple piercing. He’s a common punk; and he really loathes suit & tie combos, yanno? He sticks with old graphic tees he hasn’t grown out of since high school and ripped jeans. His outfits aren’t really a problem where he works, since he isn’t seen much and doesn’t have to see clients like psychiatrists and doctors do. He's just seen by his neighbors to collect their taxes and works in an office. He's hated. Big deal - everyone hates tax collectors.

No, but his job really is different. He likes it at times and hates it at others. It’s not a personal job and he mostly has no coworkers who want to be friends. One coworker he particularly likes is Drew, an exception and not a bad guy at all. 

They became friends years back when Kier first started working for Greenlight Agencies. He needed a smoke so he went outside only to find he was out of the cancer sticks and in a disappointed rage, threw the empty pack down only for it to ricochet and hit a guy sititng on the stairs in the head. 

He was short and blonde, and introduced himself as Drew Woolnough. He looked over Kier’s Iron Maiden T-shirt before smirking, and asking would Kier possibly want to join him for coffee? That was about it. Kier was sold, and the two had been best friends ever since.

 

FRIDAY

Lately, Drew’s acting out of place at work though, and slightly weird. But, he comes in one morning with the coffee orders as usual. Kier takes his latte before noticing that Drew looks stoned as fuck.

“Duuuude,” Kier draws out. “How much did you hit up last night?”

“Don’t say a word to William,” Drew says through clenched teeth as Shane grabs his black coffee with three sugars off of the tray. “I didn’t mean to get totally wrecked, after all.”

“I’ll believe that when you prove it,” Kier says through a smirk and goes back to his cubicle. 

 

Mr. William Francis isn’t the head of the agency but he really loves to think he is. He really likes to call himself "Mr Control" which is quite laughable. 

He’s the head of the section Kier and Drew work in, but he sure as hell doesn’t look like it. He’s got this black gelled hair he wears slicked back and in a quiff, and he usually wears these button-ups that show off his heavily tattooed arms. Even his neck is tattooed and Kier would be lying if he said it wasn’t hot.  
Shane even drools over him and that says something since he’s basically Drew’s twin, with identical blonde hair and “I really don’t give a fuck” attitude.

William is an all-around nice guy, just a cocky fuck who takes too much Ritalin. He takes his coffee straight up black with nothing else and (contrary to popular belief) he doesn’t like cock the same way. In fact, he’s married to a woman, one nobody really knows the name of, but it is a woman.

Unbelievably, William favors Kier over Drew, and Drew over Shane, and so on. He’s always playing favorites. Drew has this idea that he has a tally system of how many times they’ve fucked up in the past and whoever has the most tallies by the end of the quarter gets fired. As if that didn’t stress Kier the fuck out, Drew says he has evidence, which then convinced Kier that Drew was completely delusional about it.

Tax collecting in itself isn’t a hard job; it’s a tedious one nonetheless. 

 

That day is a rainy, cold day in March, and after Drew comes in with the coffee orders, William shows up in a white button-down smeared with blood.

He doesn’t speak at first, but everyone immediately stops speaking when he comes in. He holds up a finger and says in a scarily calm voice, “Who left the mess in the men’s room…”

No one fesses up at first, so William continues. “I walk in, and there’s a puddle of water on the floor, causing me to slip and bang my nose on the sink. Even better, I slip two more times. Great way to start a Monday, right fellas?”

Drew stifles a laugh and fails, and Kier pinches him so William doesn’t look their way.

“So? Who did it?”

“Well, sir,” Kier speaks up suddenly. “I think it would be best for you to get to the point instead of explaining the whole story. Might make people confess faster.”

The entire office laughs as William’s eyes bulge out of his head. 

“Kemp. How did I know it was you?"

“What! You have no proof, sir. Just because I speak my mind I’m guilty?”

Shane lets out a low whistle.

William looks away in a huff. “Get back to work, forget it. Kemp, in my office. Now.”

Drew pokes Kier’s side with a smirk. “Maybe he wants you to finally suck his cock.”

“Drew,” Kier hisses. “Fuck outta here, eh?”

Drew fucks outta there, eventually. And Kier heads to William’s office, his hands by his sides and a smirk on his lips.

 

William’s office is decorated wall to wall in baseball athlete pinups and tattoo artist legends, like Kat Von D, who he goons over all the time.  
With the relaxed system, employees are usually allowed to decorate their office and cubicles however they want – unless you’re Drew, who decorated his with porn as a joke. That lasted about a day or two until William found out and gave him a 3-day suspension. It was Drew’s favorite story to tell at parties.

Anyway, as Kier stands in William’s heavily decorated and rather warm office, he tries to ignore William’s eyes glaring at him from over his coffee cup. It’s pretty hard.

“Kemp,” he speaks. “This is the fourth time I’ve asked you to see me here this week. Don’t you think that means something?”

“Sir, I don’t think—”

“This week, not month. Look, I am all for self-expression, all for it. But I am your boss. And I deserve respect, do I not?”

 

Kier’s lips are twitching with words to just say already. “Sir, I don’t think that’s relevant. You asked something and I merely answered.”

“This isn’t a high school classroom, Kemp. I’m paying you to do your job, not ask me how the weather is and then get offended when I say I prefer sun to rain.”

A weak metaphor, maybe even a hyperbole. “Well, sir. Perhaps moving me to another station would suffice?”

“Don’t pull that reverse psychology shit,” William snarls, practically spitting coffee through his teeth. “Woolnough mentioned you do that.”

Kier removes his hands from his pockets. “Well, Drew mentions a lot of things. That’s why he’s Drew.”

William seethes.

“What do you want from me, sir?”

“Just keep your mouth shut unless you’re asked,” William says. “Alright? That okay with you?”

Kier’s spirit is dead by then and he’s out of sassy remarks. He forces a small smile. “Yeah, sir. Sure.”

“Good. Back to work, eh…”

So Kier’s job really fucking sucks. And now, he can’t even be himself without someone getting mad. He tries to tell himself it’s not him, it’s just William. Drew seems to listen to him, right? Even Shane likes hearing his opinions while they’re at the water cooler on break.

But that doesn’t really change the fact that Kier’s life has completely become routine. He gets up, eats breakfast at a café down the block, goes to work, goes to lunch with Drew at the same café, goes back to work, leaves, and then goes home to enjoy a night of nothing.

And as Kier watches the rain drip down the misty window panes of his small office, he wonders if that nothingness will exist forever.


	3. Lozo's

SATURDAY

Laurence’s favorite place to get coffee and sometimes a pumpkin muffin is Lozo’s Café. It’s been in the town since the 70s, and still kinda harbors the retro look, a little modernized. Wooden chairs and tables, windows stuck with chalkboard signs, but with dark orange paint on the walls. It even has the original door, a heavy wooden one with peeling teal paint. It’s the best feature of the café, Laurence thinks. The owner, Lozo himself, is old as shit, with a white beard and eyebrows and mustache to match, but he gives free coffee on Sundays from 10 to 2, so Laurence has taken quite a liking to him.

On his way back from the hardware store, where he was picking up bleach and various other products to clean up the Luke Illingworth mess, Laurence stops there. It’s after four, and even though he’s not hungry, he figures he should stop somewhere to get something to eat for later.

At Lozo’s, Laurence orders a large coffee and doesn’t pay attention to the barista really. He glances up briefly to capture in his mind what they look like; it’s a young man looking no older than 25, with sandy blonde hair, a sharp jaw and a sour expression. The nametag on his blue apron simply reads “Drew” in fancy font.

The barista Drew eyes him and Laurence stares back at him before realizing the man is talking to him.

“Sir? Hey...mister? I said that’ll be $4.95.” 

“Hmm?” Laurence drops the single syllable and closes his lips.

“Large macchiato, one sugar. $4.95. Keep wasting my time and I’ll make it more.”

Laurence forks over the five bucks and keeps his head down, letting his hair fall in front of his face. “I’m not really sure you’re allowed to do that.”

“And technically, you’re not allowed to tell me how to do my job,” Drew says and rolls his eyes. “Only Lozo is, he’s my boss. Would you like to add a sarcastic comment for two bucks more?”

This time Laurence smirks at him. “Sorry. You took me aback.”

Drew sucks in his cheeks a little. “That’s not what I’m here for, sir. I’m just here to make and sell the coffee.”

Laurence’s lips slowly take on a smirk as Drew slides over the piping hot Styrofoam cup of coffee with a lid. “My deepest apologies.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get outta here before my boss accuses me of fraternizing.”

Laurence takes it and doesn’t give Drew another glance or word. He stalks out, making sure to close the heavy wooden door to the café softly.

Drew watches and shakes his head, wondering how and why the fuck he got to work at a place like this.

 

Luke Illingworth sure made a mess, blood-and-guts wise, Laurence collects when he returns to the cabin in the woods outside of town.

It takes him an hour and a half to clean up the blood, making sure the floor around the stained, bloodied chair is practically spotless before lugging the corpse off of it and into the bathtub down the hall. He likes to make sure it's nice and clean, because blood piling up like that is just nasty. Illingworth’s face makes a smear, red on white, when it hits the ceramic tub. Laurence then cleans the knives he used in bleach, before letting them soak in the grimy porcelain sink.

The body lies in the bathtub for a while, as Laurence stares at it, figuring what to do. He sits on the floor next to the tub and taps his chin, his fingers on his knees, before shrugging it all off.

“Next time,” he mutters and leaves Illingworth in there. He removes his gloves and smirks, thinks.

Laurence could dump the body in the river snaking through the forest, but he figures that’s too fucking obvious and the authorities will find it in no time.

Dissolving the corpse in acid was, indeed, easier but took more time, and doing it in the bathtub could've been ideal. But Laurence remembers seeing that episode of Breaking Bad…and acid dissolves ceramic. That didn't look like it'd end well. 

He was at an impasse. Damn it.

Acid did seem to be a good idea but he decided to wait a day, as he hadn’t bought anything for body-acid-dissolving. 

He couldn’t do much now, he already did so much to clean up anyway. Plus, Real Housewives of New Jersey was on and he really wanted to be back home.

 

“Weirdest fucking guy came into Lozo’s,” Drew comments as Kier looks up from dinner special section on the menu at Tony’s. It’s their favorite Italian restaurant. They’re sitting at a table for two, and Kier’s starting to get uncomfortable from all the looks they’re getting. 

“Expand.” he tells Drew.

Drew stirs his iced tea with his fork, watching the ice cubes swirl and clink the glass. “He was in like, a full suit. Like, a fancy black full suit. He looked like a fucking vampire. Black hair, pale complexion and all. Ordered a coffee, that’s all. I wondered if he was gonna add ‘with a shot of blood’ or something,” 

Kier smirks. “C’mon, Drew, you work at a café and see weirdoes all the time. Maybe he works at a costume store.”

“No, man,” Drew says and looks up from his glass. “That’s the thing. He seemed so nice but at the same time, he….just gave me this really freaky vibe.”

“Because he looked like he just walked out of Halloweentown or that he wanted to eat you?”

Drew looks hard at him. “Funny, isn’t it, Kier? It’s not like I’m serious or anything.”

“Oh, relax,” Kier says. “He was harmless, right? So what if he gave you a weird vibe. You’re paranoid, mate. Nothing wrong with that, but...it must suck."

The waiter for their table delivers breadsticks for them, and Kier can’t help but notice he has a tomato sauce stain on one of his sleeves. He ignores it as Drew rambles on.

“Wait until I tell Lozo.” 

“Why can’t you just let it go, man?” Kier asks.

“Because you don’t believe me, Kier,” Drew looks hurt. “You’re my best friend.”

Kier sighs. “Like I said, Drew. Relax. It’s probably nothing.”

As Kier examines the menu again for an entree, Drew stares at the pattern of the tablecloth and shakes his head to himself. He doesn’t think it’s nothing.

 

SUNDAY

The next day, Kier stays in bed while Drew gets ready for work at Lozo's. He makes it annoyingly clear to Kier that he wants to go to work today, to see if Mr. Vampire comes back in.

“You’re kidding,” Kier says as Drew is getting dressed in jeans and a faded Metallica shirt. Kier’s still in his boxers, unshowered and tousled-hair, it being barely 8 AM. Hell, he hasn’t even made coffee.

“Fucked if I’m not,” Drew says, putting a beanie over his bedhead to conceal it. “I’ll do my shift and then wait a little longer to see if he comes in.”

Kier nearly whines. “We were supposed to hit Ikea today after you got off work. Get some Swedish meatballs. Plus, we need a new rug for the bathroom, I got coffee all over it.”

Drew shakes his head and shrugs. “Next weekend maybe?”

Kier turns the TV on and gives up, changing the channel three times before settling on one. “Fine. Remind me why we moved in together?"

Drew smirks and stalks out the door, and when it shuts Kier throws a pillow at it, muttering something like, “Good riddance.”

 

Drew comes home a little after five and from the way he’s not talking rapidly, Kier decides he never saw the guy again. Good thing, too.

“Did you order Chinese?” Drew asks tiredly and sits, rubs his face.

Kier nods and offers him some Chow Mein, because who knows. Maybe Drew really does need to relax. 

 

Laurence sees him. 

Actually, he sees them both. He’s sitting in his parked car outside of the apartment that this Drew works at, just watching. They live on the first floor and leave the windows without blinds, so it’s oh so easy to see into them.

Laurence smirks and watches through the window Drew clean up his room a little, before shutting the light off and going to bed.

Laurence rubs his hands together. This was good, what he knew now. Drew, the barista at Lozo’s, lived here, and had a roommate. A roommate who was really fucking hot. And Drew had been out long enough for Laurence to watch the roommate walk around in nothing but boxers. 

Oh. Laurence smirks in thought.

He had to have him.


	4. New Obsession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for those of you who dont use metric measures (like myself) , 24 kilometers = about 15 miles. thanks for reading

MONDAY

Laurence finally takes cares of Luke Illingworth the day after he sees Kier Kemp for the first time.

He decides against the acid and doesn’t get artistic like he usually does. A regular burial is acceptable and would take about ten minutes. So he digs a hole in the woods about twenty feet from the cabin, six feet deep, buries Luke and covers it with leaves and a fuck ton of dirt, making the ground look so undisturbed even he’s impressed himself.

And then he’s done. Luke is off his hands and off his mind. Yes, Laurence has forgotten completely about Luke Illingworth, he knows for a fact as he sits on a flat rock, staring at where he buried him. He knows.

His sole obsession is new, and it's Kier Kemp.

The five foot something, red-headed, tattooed friend of the barista at Lozo's. God, he wishes he knew more about him. Watching him from afar isn't exactly an information giver, except for the fact Laurence learned a thing or two anyway. Like how he sleeps basically naked. And relaxes after work, takes a load off and drinks a beer or two.

His name. That was the easy part. He knew Drew, so he should’ve been able to find Kier, too. He ended up googling Drew and finding that Greenlight Agencies was associated with him. He worked there, was an honorary employee. The website took him further, and soon he found Kier, who also worked there. Coincidence. Oh, bliss. It was fate! Absolute fucking fate. 

The issue- Kier was a tax collector. That meant he didn't work much and when he did it was his need to eat. People hated tax collectors.  
But Laurence felt good about that. He was already formulating a plan, in fact...

 

Monday morning comes with an annoying force and not enough coffee. Kier swore that his eyes were drying up. His mouth aches for more of that sweet hazelnut taste he craved. He wonders if sneaking out of the seminar being held would piss William off. All the more reason to do it.

Drew pokes him and snaps him out of it. "Will's looking right at you, sit up."

Kier sits up automatically and smooths his dress pants out. He never wears these, he actually just dug them out of his closet that morning, after getting hit in the head with Drew's tennis equipment. Absentmindedly, he remembers and rubs the forming bruise on his temple.

Drew's feet are shuffling and he's squirming in his seat, looking like he either needs to piss or just get the fuck out, maybe both. William's deep voice is droning on...and on. "Hey, man, I really want a slice of pizza right now."

Kier's tongue graces his lips. "Shut up. I'm fuckin' dying here, man."

Drew lets out something that could only be a moan. Kier rolls his eyes and he feels William's eyes on them like hot coals for about two seconds, and he really doesn't give a fuck.

 

Their lunch break is exactly 59 minutes and 59 seconds, and William times them. If they want to go out and grab something, they have to "hurry it up or else", according to Mr. Francis.

That day isn't any different. Drew is so keen on that pizza and wants to get to Papa Gino's as soon as humanly possible. Kier doesn't care at this point; that seminar drained anyone and everyone there and the only real way to feel like a human again is to just have some pizza.

"Fuck me," Drew says all but bluntly. "Let's get a large, dude."  
"Pepperoni?"  
"No, man. Sausage and pineapple."  
"Gross. I want olives."  
"Olives are the devil, you're gonna choke."

As their conversation goes on, something catches Kier's eye for a second and his words slow as Drew rambles on about getting pineapple over olives. It's a dark figure outside the store window walking by. 

Then it goes by again. And again.

"...Kier? Hey, Kier. I'm talking to you--"  
"What, Drew?"  
"What are you looking at?"  
"Nothing..."

The figure is gone, and Kier's attention is, apparently, back on pizza and feeding his fucking starving stomach. The world's too bitter.

 

When Kier clocks out, it's after dinnertime but he's still full from lunch. Drew had left at five as usual, with an overly-detailed plan of him jerking off with the lights off once he gets home. Kier didn't do anything but laugh. It was all he could do.

Kier puts his coat on and leaves to go out to the car, only to find it not there where he parked it. He fumbles for his phone and calls Drew.

It rings three times before Drew answers. "Hey-"

"You took the car? Drew, that's exactly what I said NOT to do! How am I gonna get home now?"

Drew pauses. "Oh, shit. Forgot. Sorry." The loud sound of Fall Out Boy in the background is undeniable. “How else was I supposed to get home?”

“I don’t know!” Kier exclaims. “A cab? It doesn't matter, something else besides my car, the one we agreed I'd take home!”

“Too late now, Kier-y,” Drew says.

Kier seethes. “I need to come home, Drew, that way I can kick your ass. Come get me."

"Now? I'm in my-"

"Do you expect me to walk home?! It’s below zero and seven at night. The house is twenty-four kilometers away, Drew.”

"Get a bus?" Drew's stumbling over his words. “All I hear is complaining, Kier.”

Kier realizes and it feels like a train hitting him. "You're fucking drunk again."

Drew doesn't answer at first. "Oh. U-uh, yeah.”

"Fuck it then. Do not come get me. I don't want you driving drunk and I certainly don't wanna be the first person standing over your corpse."

"Kier, it’s fine-"

"I said forget it." Kier hangs up and gets the urge to smash his phone on the pavement, but he lets it go.

He stands in the freezing cold, fingers jammed into the small pockets of his jeans, his chin buried in the collar of his coat. His phone goes off in his flannel breast pocket, it's probably Drew texting him an apology. He ignores it, ignores Drew, his sweet revenge. Pretty pathetic.

That’s when a voice speaks from behind him and scares the daylights out of Kier.

"You look cold."

Kier bites his lip and turns slowly, to see a dark figure standing a few feet away near a street lamp. It's a man, and he's really fucking tall, maybe about six feet. All in black, his arms relaxed, one of his hands holding a cigarette in two fingers. The smoke drifts out of it and up into the light of the lamp, illuminating the grey cloud.

His hair is jet black and his skin is paper white. Kier is reminded of Robert Smith of the Cure.

"I am." is all Kier replies.

The man smirks slowly and flicks ash off the cigarette. "Someone ditch you?"

"More like abandoned me. My fucking friend took my car and went home to get drunk. My so called best friend too. So now, I really don't want him picking me up. And I certainly don’t want him dead.”

The man laughs good-heartedly. "Oh, Lord. It happens to the best of us."

"Or the worst," Kier comments and smooths his hair back, eyes the guy. He really doesn't know where this conversation is going.

"Sorry for not introducing myself," the man says kindly, as if he knows what Kier is thinking. "My name is Laurence Beveridge. I was outside the pizza joint you were in earlier today. I was window shopping."

Odd. Very odd. "That was you. I kinda figured that."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, if you look around, you'll notice not very many people dress like everyday is Halloween here."

Laurence laughs again, the same light, happy laugh. "Fuck. You'll have to excuse my outfit. I work at Curtis’ Costume Store. This is my usual attire. Yanno him? Curtis Rx?” 

“No…” Kier says slowly, knowing Drew had been right. Kier internally curses his best friend. "But uh, I can assure you that your outfit wasn’t bothering me.”

"Good."

Kier pauses and bites his lip. "Ah. You were that guy my friend saw in Lozo's the other day."

"Indeed I was. He's a particularly nice guy. A little sarcastic, but nice."

Kier swallows. "He thinks you're a freak."

"Do you think I'm a freak?"

Kier hesitates. "No," he says truthfully with a smirk. "No, actually. You look like just the guy to drive me home."

It’s Laurence’s turn to smirk. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Do you mind? I live nearby."

"Of course. Just come with me, it's no trouble."

Accepting a ride from a stranger isn't what Kier's used to, definitely not. But something tells him to trust Laurence. Why the fuck did Drew get a weird vibe from this guy? He was nicer than anyone in this fucking town.

"I'm Kier."  
"Nice to make your acquaintance, Kier.”

 

Yanno what else Kier isn't used to? Fucking after first meeting someone. But that doesn't stop him that night.

He has no idea how it happens but one second he's sitting in the passenger seat of Laurence's beat-up Chevy Nova, and the next he's kissing him with all the hunger he can muster. And the very next Laurence has him pinned down in the same seat, and he’s gripping at Kier’s hair and at his shoulders, fumbling with the buttons of his work shirt and cheap tie, and Kier’s lips are parted, he’s panting, so desperately, so heavily. His voice doesn’t escape his throat, but if it did he would’ve begged for even more. 

 

Kier doesn't tell Drew about anything, mostly because when he gets back in the house it's after ten and Drew's passed out on his bed, an empty container of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream on the nightstand next to him.

Fuck, Kier thinks as he shakily undresses for the second time that evening. 

He wants to see Laurence again. 

And soon.


	5. Curtis

TUESDAY

Kier says absolutely, positively nothing about the night before. The next day he'd rather not go into work, he’s tired as shit, and already late. It’s only when he’s five minutes away from home, simultaneously trying not to spill coffee over the stick shift and text Drew back, when he realizes he never left Laurence his phone number.

He sighs, pulls over and turns on voice command. “Call Drew.”

Drew answers in his business-like voice, which is just a more nasally, slower tone than his regular accented voice. “Speaking.”

“Drew, I don’t think I’m gonna make it to work. I'm, uh, sick.”

“Uh, Kier."”

“What, Drew?" 

“That's a lie right there, mate. You never get sick, you’ve got the stainless steel immune system, remember? I’m the one who always gets sick.” 

“Drew, I swear to fucking God.” 

“What’s the real reason you aren’t coming in?” Drew asks, the sound of paper ruffling in the background. “'Cause I saw you get up this morning. Cut the bullshit. Just tell me.”

“Maybe you should go the fuck back to work instead,” Kier hisses. “I’ll be in later, if at all.”

“William’s gonna have your ass on a platter.”

“Good,” Kier yells the last word and slams his phone down, not bothering to hit end call.

 

Kier keeps driving until he reaches the town over, Justice. He's only been here a few times. Tiny shops and little houses dot the area, and a medium-sized sign that reads WELCOME stands at the end of a bridge. It reads, population: 500. 

He parks on the side of the road and just sits. He sits and thinks about Drew and how annoyingly protective he is, always knows what Kier's thinking. Sometimes it's good, sometimes not. He thinks about how much he wants to see Laurence again. He thinks about the look on William’s face if he showed up 5 hours late for work and still had the nerve to show his bloody face.

He rubs his face and shakes his head. The people in his life were all fucking seismographs. Some were level and stayed the same and some were fucking all over the place.

Kier checks his phone to find three texts from Drew and a missed call. He stares at it, blinks and chucks his phone out the window without another thought. He also doesn’t look when it hits the sidewalk with a delayed crack and smash.

“Fuckin’ piece of shit anyway,” he says. He thinks about what he did, and soon he’s getting out of the car and picking it up, inspecting it.

It’s not cracked to shit like he thought it’d be, but he should probably use this as an excuse to go buy a new phone.

 

On his way back into his town, Kier spots an old grey building about five blocks from home. The sign above the door says Curtis Rx’s Costume and Antique Shop & Tea House. It suddenly hits Kier’s memory like a fucking train that Laurence works there and he wonders why he didn’t remember sooner and look for the shop in the first fucking place. Last night was such a goddamn blur, he didn’t remember.

“I work at Curtis’ Costume Store. Yanno him? Curtis Rx?”

Kier parks in front of the shop and sighs, sits there for a moment. Part of the reason he didn’t remember was because of Drew and he knows it, he can’t fool his subconscious mind. 

Drew, who he was still mad at for the seventh time this month over nothing. Drew, who knew nothing of what Kier had with Laurence…if they even had anything at all, because  
Kier hadn’t spoken a word about it. Drew, who probably knew Kier was lying to him. It was hard to fool him.

But somehow? Kier didn’t have a problem with any of that. He was apathetic, which you have to be sometimes in this world.

 

Kier does end up calling in sick, still parked in front of the shop. William lets him, but sounds annoyed anyway.

“One sick day, Kemp. That’s all I gift to you.” he growls on the other line into Kier’s ear, which is pressed against his phone. He can almost see William pointing a single tattooed finger at him.

“Woolnough won’t shut up about you,” William continues in a biting tone. “He’s worried.”

Kier taps his fingers on the steering wheel, ignores William’s last statement. “Thank you very much.”

“You call me sir, Kemp. You know that.”

Kier is totally rolling his eyes. “Thank you, sir. Goodbye now, sir.”

“How do I make him shut up about you, huh?”

“Tell him I’m not dead and that it should be enough.”

 

After hanging up, Kier hops out of his car and strolls into the shop. Inside isn't any more impressive as the outside, but it certainly is disorganized. 

Paintings dot the wallpaper-stripped walls, rugs were put in random places of the floor. There were tables full of metal and fake-golden objects like watches and snow globes. And around all the trinkets and rugs and weird buckets full of what appeared to be rainwater from the ceilings, were costumes, old as fuck knows, hanging on hangers. Dresses and tuxes, from velvet to silk, and clown outfits from the 50s. 

Kier walks around in awe. His attention is on one particular aubergine suit with white accented sleeves and buttons, looking like something that the joker from Batman would wear, when a voice speaks up.

“See anything you like?”

Kier looks to his left and sees a young man sitting on a medium-sized pile of hardcover books, with a monocle in front of his right eye. He has dark hair leading down to wildly impressive sideburns and larger-than-normal eyes, dressed in a striped shirt with a vest and red suspenders. Kier thinks he really looks like he crawled out of a Tim Burton film.

“Hello. I’m Curtis.”

“I figured. You’re the owner.”

Curtis smirks at him, twirls his fingers around the small monocle. “I certainly am. And you are?”

“Kier,” he puts his hands in his pockets like it’s nothing special. “Kier Kemp. I work for Greenlight Agencies over on Sunset.”

“Fuck,” Curtis swears and it looks odd but fitting when it comes out of his mouth. He bites his lip. “Shit. You’re here to collect? I swear I just filed a tax return.”

Kier shakes his head and smirks a little. “Oh, no, I...I’m off work right now. Saw your shop and was really interested.”

Curtis sure looks relieved. “Hmm, okay, cool. Are you looking for something in particular, Kier?” 

A loud squawk makes Kier jump three fucking feet in the air, and he watches as a large raven lands softly on Curtis’ shoulder.

Oh, of course he has a pet raven too. Kier honestly didn’t think the guy could get anymore 1990s horror movie.

Kier looks back at Curtis. “Someone, actually. I met one of your employees the other day, his name’s Laurence. Laurence Beveridge?”

Curtis’ eyes shrink slightly, as he takes the monocle down and polishes it. He doesn’t look up. “Oh, him. Yes, he works here. Are you going to ask if he’s working today?”

“From your tone of voice, I suspect he isn’t here.” 

Curtis smiles coyly at him. “He gets Mondays and Fridays off, coincidentally enough. Calls in sick a lot, though. Frankly it’s starting to worry me.”

Kier bites his lip and watches the bird eye him, snapping its small beak threateningly. 

“Personally, the fact that this is a small store is not, nor is it anywhere near, the point,” Curtis continues, looking through the monocle again. “Laurence is a slacker. He doesn’t care much about anything and especially not about his job. Yes, it is starting to worry me, as his boss and as his dear friend.”

Kier swallows. “Is he a peculiar man?”

“You tell me, Mr. Kemp. You came in here looking for him.”

Kier’s lips take up a smirk and he comes closer. “Look, thank you, but I don’t want a bio on him, Curtis. I just wanna know where he’d be at this time of day.”

“Beats me. I’m very busy as it is, Mr. Kemp.”

“Please, call me Kier.”

Curtis waves him off and hops off the book stack. He beckons the raven to follow him to a small blue table and a stove behind the counter, with a pyrite kettle and containers of triangle tea bags sitting on it. “This raven here, his name is Poe. Pretty iconic, don’t you think? Like Edgar Allen? How do you take your tea, Kier?”

Kier follows after Poe and takes a seat on a stack of books. He accepts it as the choice seat. Curtis must sit on book stacks all the time. He wonders if his ass must hurt from it. But how weird to have a nice table for tea and yet no chairs. Curtis was awfully peculiar.

“Kier? Your tea?”

“Oh. Two teaspoons of sugar, please,” he says as Poe squawks at him again.

Curtis is smirking as he prepares two mugs. “Like it sweet, do you?”

Kier ignores that and watches Curtis’ back muscles move as he prepares the tea. “Okay. I know it seems that I am infatuated with your employee, Curtis. But all I wanna do is see him again, I swear. We’re not getting hitched or anything.”

Curtis snorts and nearly drops a spoon at Kier’s words. “Oh, what century is it? Fucking hell. Anyway, Kier…I know what you mean. But Laurence has been a little on the odd side since last Tuesday. Even odder than usual. He barely wants to come into work and that’s even more so.” 

Kier leans closer, his hands on the counter. “Why? What happened last Tuesday?”

Curtis turns and puts the kettle on the stove, doesn’t look up. His arms fall to his sides, and Kier spots a tattoo he didn’t see before on his left arm. 

"You don't watch the fucking news?"

"Not remotely, no."

Curtis exhales. “An employee of mine was brutally murdered. His name was Luke Illingworth. He was one of Laurence’s friends, I presume. Though he never attended Luke’s funeral.”

Kier’s biting his lip so hard he thought it’d burst. “Murdered? Fuck. Where?”

Curtis stirs his own mug and meets Kier’s eyes. “In a basement of an abandoned house off north I-80, deep in the woods. Cliché. But it was still a sick sight. His throat was slit, his jaw ripped out of his fucking head…” Curtis is trailing off, his voice thinning.

Kier blinks and pictures the sight, his hands shaking a little. No. Not in this town, never. No fucking way in this town.

“The work of a serial killer, you think?”

“What else?” Curtis does this sad little laugh that makes Kier’s spine feel exposed, and hands Kier a mug of steaming gold-colored tea that smells of perfume and peppermint. “Me, yanno, I…read horror novels all the time and watch all the films. But when it happens in real life,” he sighs. “There are no fucking words.”

Kier looks down at the chipped mug and swallows. “I’m really sorry for your loss, Curtis.”

Curtis sips his tea, which, from where Kier is looking, looks mysteriously like it contains something purple and vapory, and shakes his head. “Someone’s gotta catch that motherfucker. Catch him and lock him away for good so he can’t hurt anyone else.” Poe squawks in agreement, perched like a gargoyle on Curtis’ shoulder, eyes beady like seeds.

Kier agrees too, and finishes half his tea before wiping his wet lips on his sleeve. It tastes like sickly sweet metal. “Thank you so much for the tea, Curtis. I'll be going now. I have an apology to give my best friend.”

Curtis smiles coyly yet again. “Good luck with that, I suppose. Will I be seeing you again? I have some horror novels I wanna share with you.”

Kier suddenly smiles and nods at him. “Oh, yes. I will be back, Curtis. Count me as a friend.”


	6. A Friend with Weed is a Friend Indeed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally i updated this, I've been waiting for my new laptop to come in. Really pleased with how this came out!
> 
> P.S. title comes from the song Pure Morning by Placebo
> 
> thanks for reading!

Kier and Drew aren't exactly on good terms. He did apologize, but Drew shrugs it off basically. Given, it's been a damn day, but it doesn’t stop Drew from being the passive aggressive asshole he is. 

Kier has way too much on his mind to deal with his crap so he decides to let Drew be an ass. Work is his first and foremost worry, what with his asshole boss who literally looks and walks like he's waiting for you to suck his cock. Work, which also included Drew, his best friend and roommate who couldn’t relax for a minute and treated him like he was the teenager sneaking out at night and he was the overprotective father. The fucking irony of it all.

Not to mention his never-ending tedious list of work to do, that he of course also worried about.

If he was back in college, his roommate Chris would say to him, around his cigarette of course and under a mop of greasy hair: "You worry too much. Smoke a blunt for fucks' sake" before putting his cigarette out on an old slice of pizza that was God knows how old.

Kier really does wish he could smoke a blunt, for fucks' sake. It really might relax him a tad.

 

THURSDAY

The sort-of answer to Kier's myriad of problems comes a few days later, Thursday. After work, he stops at Curtis's store as the sun is setting behind the trees. It's bitterly cold for March, but the store is warm and inviting, the fireplace roaring in the corner.

A few customers are roaming around, looking at shelves and muttering in amusement, when Kier steps in and the silver bell chimes obnoxiously. The person at the register is another employee, a tall girl with hair dyed down the middle - the left side black and the right side red as cherries. She's talking to an older woman about a cloudy blue snow-globe.

Kier waits until the customer steps away to walk up to her. "I didn't know you worked here, Ash."

Ash smirks at him as a greeting. "And I didn’t know you could totally rock plaid, Kier. But we all find out things eventually."

She's flirting, he thinks. He liked it, though. It was how she was friendly. Kier hasn’t seen her for at least 2 months but her attitude and hair are both the same.

"How long, eh?"

"Few months. Lately my hours were cut, so I've been driving up to New York to see Chris."

Kier bites his lip at the mention of his old friend's name. "How is the old stoner, anyway?

Ash laughs, a light and fun giggle. "He says he misses you as much as he misses having measles last year."

Kier chuckles. "Asshole. Is he…still on junk though?"

"Mostly weed. He's in rehab for…the other things." Ash's voice goes a little quieter and she busies herself in wiping the counter down, though the polished wood is spotless.

Kier pushes his hair aside, feeling the mood depress a little. "Well, tell him I want to talk to him."

"You have his number, Kier, call him. But why the sudden interest? You haven't seen him in years."

Kier shrugs. "I'm lonely as shit. My only friend has been ignoring me for the past week. Plus it'd be good to see him."

It's Ash's turn to shrug. "Sometimes no social interaction is good. Speaking of that, why the fuck are you here anyway? I doubt it was to see me." she grins a little.

"You know you're my old friend, too," Kier smirks. "But I'm actually looking for your boss. I said I'd come see him again, we're friends I guess."

"Curtis is never on duty," Ash explains with a roll of her eyes. "It's us employees that have to haul ass since he barely comes in."

Kier, with Laurence still on his mind, says, "Well, speaking of employees…do you know a Laurence Beveridge?"

Ash nods a little. "Yeah, he barely comes in, even less than Curtis. I don't know why he doesn’t just fire his ass."

"So you don't know when he comes in?"

"Beats me."

Kier is sure that the last of his luck has literally turned to shit. "Damn."

"Why do you ask?"

"Do you know you ask a lot of questions?" Kier smirks and Ash rolls her eyes again.

"Just take a damn seat, Kier. Curtis should be coming out to close in like an hour."

Kier takes a seat in a pink armchair. "Coming out?"

"You didn’t know he lives in the flat above the store? I thought it was obvious."

Kier shrugs. "Lots of things are obvious. But we all find out things eventually," he says with a smirk.

 

When Curtis shows up, the fucking bird on his shoulder again, Ash and the other two employees have already left. He's surprised to see Kier sitting and waiting in the pink armchair.

"Did we have an appointment?"

"What are you, a doctor?"

Curtis is in a less eccentric outfit today, just a black thermal long-sleeve, blue jeans, and Docs. His hair is unkempt as it seemed to always be. Kier wonders if Curtis owns a comb.

"I am a doctor in my own way," he says as he locks up the shop. One major lock, and two smaller ones on the top and bottom of the heavy door. He turns and exhales. "I'm sorry, did we have a date, Kier?"

"Sort of. This is me stopping by again. I did say I'd be back."

Curtis smirks and beckons for him to follow. He ushers Kier to the backroom and they travel through it as Curtis says, "I had no idea it would be this soon. Look at me, I'm a mess and so is my flat."

Kier waves it off. "Don't even let it bother you, I'm a mess myself."

They arrive at Curtis's upstairs flat. The door is another really heavy one, with a brass number 2 hanging on it. Kier looks around when they enter, and sees that it is indeed a mess. Takeout boxes spewed over tables, clothes drapes over furniture, and the curious smell of citrus and unwashed laundry is lingering.

Kier doesn’t mind the mess, but he is curious about one particular thing. "Curtis?"

Curtis is desperately trying to clean up already, looking embarrassed. "Yeah?"

Kier takes a seat on the one couch that isn't completely covered in empty food containers. "You own the shop, eh? And you're the manager? Ash says you don’t come in a lot, but you're busy a lot. And if you don’t, then where do you go? I suspect you don't stay at home all day, considering this place is a mess and you're really trying to clean it up which means you aren't used to the mess…which means you aren't home to clean it. So, what? Have another job?"

Curtis stares at him, a few empty crisps bags in his fist, and parts his lips. "What the fuck are you, Sherlock Holmes?"

"I-I hope that didn’t sound rude, I'm sorry-"

"No, man! I'm impressed," Curtis insists. "I always appreciate the power of deduction. I do like the classic Holmes novels too. I own most of them."

"Avoid the question a little more subtly."

Curtis sighs and sits, stuffing the bags into a garbage bag on the floor. "Man, you're not gonna report me to the cops if I tell you I'm a drug dealer, are you?"

"Damn. And here I was thinking you were a serial killer."

Curtis laughs and rubs his face. "Okay, so I'm an obvious drug dealer. Ash even knows and she couldn’t give less of a fuck in all honesty. Brian doesn’t know, but he's kind of an idiot, so…"

It's Kier's turn to laugh. "Don't think I've seen Brian. Then again, this is the second time I've been here."

"Brian's the androgynous one. He's always wearing makeup."

"I definitely think I would've seen him," Kier says. "Men in makeup are hot."

Curtis snorts and starts gathering trash again. "Sunday bloody Sunday."

Kier watches him and hesitates before saying, "Need help?"

"Nah, man."

"No, I insist. It could be fun!"

Curtis looks at him doubtly, but lets him help.

 

So that's how the night went. Kier and Curtis clean up Curtis's flat. They tidy it, sweep and wash the floors, and clean down to the last dust speck. As they sit admiring how clean it's getting, smoking a few cigarettes, Kier drops the question Curtis knew he'd ask.

"So what do you sell?"

Curtis hesitates and bites his lip, taking another drag. "Marijuana, mostly. Heroin."

"And the cops aren't on your ass?" Kier exhales smoke.

"Well, I don’t make my flat my drug dealing den. I travel, yanno, and it makes me less suspicious. Plus, there's so many drug dealers in this town…I'm just another one. I'm no kingpin."

"What do you do, deal out of your van?"

"In a way, yeah. I have a mobile. It's hidden, only I know where it is."

Kier snickers and covers his mouth. "A fuckin' drive through drug deal? Do you get a side of fries?"

Curtis laughs aloud, nasally. "No, but maybe I should do that, make it a Happy Meal."

They're silent for a few minutes and Kier asks the other question Curtis knew he'd ask.

"Can we have a spot of weed just because?"

"Got money?"

"Naturally," Kier says, and it sounds snooty when it escapes his mouth. "Uh. How much?"

"Eh, it's by the ounce. For you, a friend, I'll give you a discount. That is…" Curtis looks at him with those huge eyes. "If you promise not to rat me out."

"Promise," Kier says and Curtis crosses his arms and smiles, satisfied.

 

For once, maybe Kier's luck was changing. He thought it weird how he'd been thinking about Chris earlier that day, and then had a conversation with Ash, Chris' lover, about him. And then thought about how much he needed a smoke, only to find out his new friend and owner of the shop he liked quite a lot, Curtis, was a drug dealer with weed. 

It was like fate was on his side.

But even as he and Curtis sat on Curtis' beat up couch, smoking a blunt or two and relishing the sweet, sweet high that Kier hadn't experienced since college -- Laurence was still on his mind, as he always was. 

Kier starts to wonder if it will always be like that, until he finally finds Laurence again.


	7. Questions

Laurence's obsession with Kier hasn't gone away. If anything, it's worsened. He hasn’t seen him since that night, and he can't help but wonder if Kier is still interested in him too. Maybe, just maybe.

Rare it was for Laurence to feel this way. Human interaction, he always believed, was gross, unneeded, and a waste of time. It wasn’t that he didn't quite want it; it was that he just never got the need to want it.

Yet his interaction with Kier hadn’t been draining like all the rest had.

As he recalled this, sitting in his house, one leg over the other on the couch and the TV blaring in front of him, he felt almost concerned for himself.

Because a human had never made him feel energized. That in itself was dangerous.

Laurence was arrogant, indifferent, devoid of feeling. He knew that, he had known it for awhile, and he had dealt with it and made it a part of his core personality. 

Did Kier know that? What would happen if they met again and had a more in-depth conversation and Kier found out he was an emotionless void? Would he hesitate and laugh, then say he had to leave? Would he not understand?

Way too many fucking questions. Laurence is sure of that, honestly, as he throws a bottle at the TV screen and puts a hole in it. Oh, well, he thinks as it sparks and crackles.

Why did he even care about Kier? What was so special about him? He was average, worked a shitty job and didn’t make anymore money than a bank teller did. He had dyed hair and piercings, was a regular punk. He had a cute smile, and to be honest, he was amazing in bed.

Laurence presses his fingers to his right temple. The only way to answer any of these goddamn questions was to find him again. And soon.

 

FRIDAY

Laurence decides to go into work for the first time in two weeks on Friday. Not because he wanted to, you see, but just to annoy Curtis. Sure enough, Curtis is there at the front register, cleaning the counter, and the look on his face is priceless when he sees Laurence, a mix of surprise and shock.

"Well, the fucking prodigal son returns!"

"Hello," Laurence says, hiding his amusement. "Sorry. I had mono."

"Mono for only two damn weeks? Try again."

"Yes, sir. Mono for two damn weeks."

Curtis' expression falters. "And you didn’t ever think to maybe give me a call and tell me why you were out?"

"I was sick," Laurence says smoothly and scoffs. "Could barely move half the time."

Curtis, though cocky and a downright stoner, wasn't stupid. "Uh-huh," he says as he watches Laurence put his apron on and adjust the pins and his nametag. "Must've been not that bad a bug, then, eh?"

Laurence looks at him and tilts his head. "Oh. And where do you go all those days you're out, huh, Curt? Dealing junk in Hoboken or just sightseeing?"

Curtis tenses slightly. "Fuckin'. I see, you're trying to convince me it's not a big deal that you didn’t come into work for two fucking weeks."

"No," Laurence deadpans. "I'm trying to tell you that you of all people shouldn’t talk about being absent from work, considering what your second and more time-consuming profession is. I know."

He delivers the last sentence with a smile.

"You're lucky I don’t fire you right now, Laurence."

"For what, skipping work or slapping you with the truth? You won't fire me."

Curtis rolls his eyes in defeat. "Yeah, you're goddamn right."

Laurence, pleased, takes over the register and Curtis moves out from behind the counter to tend to a bookshelf.

"By the way," Curtis says and stops a little, turning. "I made friends with one of your friends. Or do you prefer the term one night stand?"

Laurence raises an eyebrow, tensing and pulling down his sleeves slowly.

"His name's Kier," Curtis says and of course, of course. The rest of the mumbo-shit that comes out of his mouth is barely audible to Laurence.

Something along the lines of "We smoked weed last night and chilled, he's a cool guy. Been looking for you for a few days and doesn’t have your number, blah, blah, blah…" Curtis was saying.

Laurence's heart is in his goddamn eyeball, for fucks' sake. "Why didn’t you tell me?" he spits.

"You don’t come into work."

"There's a thing called a cell phone for a reason!"

Curtis purses his lips smugly. "That's not my problem. But oh, you were sick right, and couldn’t call me? Shame, guess I couldn’t have called you either." He turns back to the bookshelf. Even the way he's stocking some books on the second shelf is cocky.

"Wait," Laurence says through clenched teeth, eyeing Curtis. "Tell me how can I get a hold of him."

"I'll give you his number, which you should've gotten when you fucked him."

"Thanks-"

"But," Curtis starts and Laurence knew he was gonna throw in a condition. It was Curtis, for fucks' sake. "Beveridge, you owe me 20 hours of work plus 15 this week, so looks like you're working everyday this week, not including all those overtime hours you owe me."

Laurence knew this was coming. Pursing his lips, he says calmly, "So if I don’t work 35+ hours this week, you won't give me his number?"

"Not to mention I'll fire you." Curtis says bluntly. "Get to work."

 

Laurence spends the whole day thinking.

Kier knows Curtis and they had hung out, which meant he must've come in more than once, and maybe he'll come in again, soon.

But Laurence is pretty much convinced Curtis is the fucking devil. Maybe not the devil, quite, but he sure is a fucking dick.

"It's boss-employee confidentiality," Curtis had said when Laurence asked why he couldn’t have just given Kier his number, and this goddamn shit pile of a problem would be solved. Curtis had obviously made that up on the spot, just to fuck with him. But that's what he had been doing since Laurence had come back in - Curtis always fucked with people.

Given, Laurence fucked with Curtis too. But not so much as to fuck with his personal life, even Laurence knew that was out of line.

Maybe Curtis just wants Kier to himself, Laurence thinks next. Damn, he hoped to fucking God that dick hadn't fucked with Kier, or anything along those lines.

He didn’t want his boss's blood on his hands, for any reason whatsoever. He'd find a way to get a hold of and hopefully see Kier again, even if he had to work those extra hours.

 

The whole day is boring as shit, pretty dead, customers here and there. It's pretty okay for a Friday, with okay sales. Laurence knows, though, that everyone is doing more important shit that night, like seeing the new films at the cinema or having dinner or going to a play. Nobody in their right mind would go to an antique shop on a Friday fucking night just to browse around, even if they were high as shit, and even around here.

Curtis disappears for hours on end as usual, and when Laurence finally clocks out at 5, he's still gone. The store closes in a hour or two anyway, and Brian's there until close.

Brian is older than Laurence by at least 10 years, though he looks like he's in his twenties. He's got this choppy, shaggy black hair and blue eyes that are almost always half-lidded, like he's tired. Laurence thought him pretty, but would never say it to him out loud.

Laurence waves at him, only to receive a half-hearted, "Bye, Laurence" from Brian. He finishes buttoning his coat and starts out the door, only to bump straight into someone, nearly knocking them over.

"Jesus, I'm sorry-" the person says and when Laurence sees his face, his heart drops to his stomach.

"Laurence?" Kier says and his face breaks out into a smile. "Jesus, hi! Been looking for ya!"

Laurence hesitates. Of course he has. "I've been looking for you t-too," his speech falters. "Here, come in, it's cold out there."

Kier comes in and unwraps his scarf, exhaling cold breaths. "Nice and toasty here. I was hoping to run into you working."

"Actually…I just got off my shift," Laurence says and Kier looks even more excited, ecstatic. God, what was it with this man?

"Great! Are you up for the pub down the street? I'm buying."

Laurence nods, feeling the start of what he knew was amusement. Curtis was gonna be so jealous. He was going to go get drunk with this hot guy and Curtis wasn’t. Laurence almost hopes he'll show up randomly to see him standing with Kier, just to rub it in his face.

But he doesn’t. They're standing there for a few minutes, Kier warming his hands and watching Laurence.

"So, are you up for it?" Kier asks again, though Laurence said yes. It was cute, Laurence admitted, how he double checked to make sure. "They have good chips too."

"Definitely," Laurence says and adjusts his coat. 

 

O'Yana's is the said pub down the street. Laurence has never step foot in, but by the way Kier optimistically opens the door and knows exactly where to sit at the bar (not toward the right, the seats aren't as sturdy), he can tell he's been here a lot.

Kier orders two beers and an order of chips to start. Laurence watches his face as he talks, watches the curve of his lips and the fluttering of his eyelashes. Damn, he's beautiful.

Kier turns to Laurence and smiles, his small labret piercing stretching against his pink, wind burned lips. He leans his head on his hand. "So, how've you been?"

"Good," Laurence says honestly. He really doesn’t know where this conversation will lead. It just now strikes him that they know absolutely nothing about each other, other than the fact that Kier's friend is a dick and Kier is a really fucking good lay. Laurence really isn't a people person, but he actually cares because he knows Kier might leave early if he's bored with the conversation. He had to do something.

"And you've been…good?" he says stupidly. Great way to save it.

It's awkward. Laurence knew it was gonna be fucking awkward.

"Yeah," Kier says, not minding the awkwardness, and Laurence thanks whoever's up there in heaven. "Been working, not talking to Drew, the usual."

"Why is he your best friend?" Laurence suddenly asks and Kier's eyes jump to his face. "You seem to not ever get along."

Kier sips his beer and licks his upper lip, looking back at him. "He's my roommate, we kinda have to tolerate each other."

"I bet you make enough money to move out and get your own place."

"You are right," Kier laughs a little, a really cute giggle, and Laurence wants to kill himself. "But Drew, yanno, he…needs me, I guess. It's complicated."

Laurence shrugs and goes to salt the chips, only to have the salt shaker top fall off and half the contents spill into the basket. He suddenly wonders if Curtis is really the devil, sitting on his throne in hell and laughing as he fucks everything up for Laurence and Kier. He curses out loud.

Kier cackles. "Oh, shit," he says. "Extra salty. Might not be that bad, yanno, try one."

His optimism is insane. The guy who apparently hates his job and roommate is somehow happy about overly-salted chips. His attitude is cavity-causing.

Laurence downs his beer instead and pushes the chips away, only to have Kier take them and try a few. He watches as Kier's face contorts and he gags. "Okay, not that good, either."

That makes Laurence genuinely laugh, and it feels good.

"So," Kier says as he finishes his can and slaps it on the counter. "Tell me about you, we know like nothing about each other other than a few things."

This man was not only a sickly-sweet optimist with a taste for salty shit, he was also apparently a mind reader.

Laurence has to play along. "There's not much about me that's any more interesting than the average person. I'm 27 and make 20k a year after taxes."

Kier smirks coyly, shyly. "That's a little interesting to me."

"You’re flirting with me."

"Trust me, honey, that was nothing. Give me another drink and I'll start cock-worshipping."

Laurence, nearly choking on the last of his beer, laughs. "I'll let you get away with that one, you have seen my cock."

 

They order drink after drink, and Kier gets drunk before Laurence. He's a cute drunk, very quiet and slurry, and he keeps looking at Laurence like he's the most beautiful person he's ever seen.

Laurence, a more sexual and horny drunk, is trying to clear his mind of all the images popping up, images which include Kier on his hands and knees, Kier against his bedroom wall, Kier spread out across his kitchen counter, Kier begging him. Every time he looks at Kier, a new image rises.

They leave the bar around 8, arm-in-arm, both slowly sobering up by now. It's as much a slap in the face as the cold winter night air.

"Is it too cliché to go home with someone after getting drunk and asking them to fuck your brains out?" Kier says bluntly, huskily.

Laurence stops him and pushes him against a wall. Kier's leather jacket hits and scratches against it and he gasps.

"You tell me."

Kier looks at him and parts his lips, those fucking nice, pink, cock-sucking lips. "Are you asking me to beg you?"

Laurence grins slightly and he can feel Kier tense even more under his touch on his chest. He can feel his heartbeat, the blood pumping, his lungs shakily filling with air. Oh, fuck.

"There's nothing more I like more in life than begging."

Kier bites a lip. "Please, take me home and fuck me again."

"You can do better than that." Laurence says, watching his face as he grips his cock through those skintight jeans. "Slut."

Kier's breath hitches. "I r-really like degrading."

Good, he's stuttering. "I know," Laurence says, pleased. "I called you a whore at least 10 times last time we fucked."

Kier, visibly shaking as Laurence squeezes the bulge in his pants, lets out a small, choked-back moan and lets his head fall back.

"Wanna make it ten more times?"


	8. Control

FRIDAY

Drew Woolnough misses his best friend.

He really shouldn't have dismissed Kier's apology and been a dick. Jesus Christ, it wasn't right. Kier was ignoring him both at work and home, which hurt even more. At least at work they both had things to do and occupy their time, but home was where they relaxed and didn't do shit. What was he supposed to do, ignore him back? 

Not to mention, there was obviously something off about Kier nowadays. Ever since he came home late that one night. He looked drunk that night, maybe stoned, but he wasn't. He just looked it, which was odd. Kier did drink and he did get drunk sometimes, and he maybe even smoked weed, and judging by his appearance that's what he had done.

But he hadn't. Drew hadn't smelled anything on him. And unless he bathed before returning home where he could bathe, Kier hadn’t done shit.

It then occurs to Drew that he probably got laid. Which was good, for him at least.

He just wishes Kier would talk to him again, so he wouldn’t have to worry so much.

Drew hates this. He feels like the useless friend in a film who's only there for support, not for plot extension. That's exactly what he was to Kier. Just a friend, a person to talk to when in need, and nothing else.

Drew sighs and throws another beer can at the wall. This was night three of drinking himself into oblivion. Night four would surely be next.

He could stop, maybe, if Kier didn’t hate him anymore. And maybe, if he told Drew he, amazingly, also liked him back.

 

Though dazed and hazy from being turned on, Kier can feel his back hit the cold wood of Laurence's apartment door from the inside. Laurence is on him seconds later, feeling his heartbeat with a palm spread over his chest. He's licking Kier's throat slowly, going from his jawline to his jugular. Laurence seems obsessed with feeling Kier's heart pound and flutter, obsessed with tasting his skin, baring his teeth along his neck like a vampire might do to its prey.

It's so fucking hot and fucking damn Kier is so hard in his pants, it's painful.

Nobody has ever treated him like this, not any of Kier's partners he's had in the past 10 fucking years. Laurence was so intoxicating, so good to him, and could turn him on by looking down at him, being slightly taller, and biting his fucking lip. Not like any of the others - he was above the rest.

Kier audibly exhales a whine, pressing his body against Laurence and putting his hands on his chest. Laurence is progressively sucking another hickey into his neck, and Kier arches a little more to give him better access. His hands feel at Laurence's chest, slowly unbuttoning his shirt before impatiently ripping the rest of the buttons. Laurence's shirt slides to the floor. He smirks.

"Fuck, man."

Laurence slides his hands up Kier's own shirt. "You know I play dirty, love."

They make out for what seems to be forever, hot and sticky, their faces sweat-slick by the time Kier pulls away and wraps his arms around Laurence's neck. Laurence helps him onto his waist, wrapping Kier's legs around him. He helps Kier out of his shirt and smirks.

"Damn. You have a lot of chest hair."

"Genetics," Kier croaks out and kisses him again, gripping his dark hair in his fists. Laurence breaks the kiss a few seconds later to suck on his neck again, breathing heavily against his throat. Kier can't see his neck, but he can feel the spouts of pain and pressure at certain points so he figures he has at least five hickies. Fuck.

Laurence drops him onto his bed and starts undoing his belt before Kier even knows what's going on. He lays there, spread out and wanton. 

"Are you a top or bottom? Sadist or masochist?" Laurence practically purrs.

Laurence's choice of words send chills down Kier's spine. "Whatever you want me to be tonight, honey."

"Masochist," Laurence chuckles and kneels on the bed between Kier's legs, his own pants gone. "Knew it."

"How'd you know?" Kier asks shakily.

"It's in your fucking eyes."

Kier bites down on his swollen lip and arches his neck back a little. "You're a sadist?"

"In a lot of ways, I am. There's a spout of info we hadn't communicated last time we fucked, eh?"

"I barely remember that night," Kier said truthfully, shaking. "But you're right, we didn't talk about it. It was in your car, for fucks' sake."  
Laurence strokes his thighs, chuckling. "Talk about it now, then?"

Kier hesitates. "You'll hit me? Bite me? Slap me, even.."

Laurence grins a little at him. "If you want me to, love. Your wish is my command."

"My wish is your command?" Kier repeats as Laurence runs his nails down his thighs, scratching slightly. "A sadist obeys commands a masochist g-gives them?"

"People aren't always clear on that…but yes," Laurence explains and grips Kier's bulge through his underwear, squeezing slightly, causing Kier's lips to part. "Many times, the masochist calls the shots, tells the sadist exactly what to do and how to hurt them."

Kier nods, bottom lip between his teeth, and moans softly. "Uh-huh."

Laurence grips tighter, rubbing and massaging his clothed cock, and Kier's reduced to a squirming mess. "The masochist is the one in control, yet the sadist is. In a way, they have equal amounts of control. This is good for them both, good for the relationship."

Kier's panting now, his breath hitching with every inhale. 

"Because the sadist gets pleasure out of torturing the one who loves pain. It's erotic to see them squirm, because he, too, is getting pleasure from the pain."

"Please."

"It really is erotic….especially when the masochist is begging for it," Laurence locks eyes with Kier. "Like you are now."

"Please hit me."

"No. You don't deserve it, not with that tone. You sound like you barely want it. Beg me."

"Please!" Kier pleads, his cock rock hard now. He can't take this. "Laurence, please. Hurt me, I want it, please. Please, master. I deserve to be hit and slapped."

Laurence, pleased now, runs his cold knuckles over Kier's flushed and trembling cheek, and smiles. "Good boy."

Kier sees it happening, and he doesn’t flinch, but anticipates Laurence slapping him across the face, with such force his entire head moves to the side. He lets out a moan, he doesn’t know if it's out of surprise or pain or both.

"Such a good boy, you let me do that," Laurence says through his teeth and oh, oh. Kier loves it. It's so fucking hot. "I bet you liked to be choked, too. Tell me, tell your master. You like being choked?"

"Yes," Kier croaks and Laurence hits him again, making his damp, sweat-soaked hair splay out into his face. Kier moves on the bed, groaning at the pain, his cock aching, wishing Laurence would get him off already. 

But no. He has to wait and be a good boy.

Where Laurence hit him is burning, tingling and through the pain he feels the pleasure. Laurence hits him three more times, the last slap to his face bruising, and Kier's drooling, salvia escaping his lips as he parts them to moan. It trickles down his chin.

Laurence grips his aching jaw and stares him dead in the eye. Slowly, he speaks. "Now. Tell me exactly what you want."

The words are on the tip of Kier's tongue. "Fuck me."

Kier's wish was, indeed, Laurence's command.

 

It's not like last time. The last time they fucked it had been messy, rushed, a desperate attempt to get off.

But this - now - was so different. It was slower, harder, better. As cliché as it sounded, Kier thought it was as though they were making love instead of fucking.

But at the same time, he knows a person like Laurence didn't make love. He just fucked, hard and dirty. 

Yet Laurence was holding him as though they were. Holding him close, not letting go, putting his hand on Kier's chest where his heart was for the sixth time. Kier is under him, like he'd been last time, but this time their bodies are touching, chest-to-chest.

Kier digs his nails into Laurence's back, dragging them down and leaving scratches. He's crying out moans and moving with his thrusts. It's too good, he can't say anything intelligible, so he just moans, and Laurence lets him. Sometimes Laurence hears his name escape his lips.

Laurence moves up and over him again, watching Kier below him. He's so perfect like this - lips parted, beautiful eyes half-lidded, moving his head side to side, and then looking up at Laurence. 

He grips Laurence's back again, gasping. "Fuck, h-harder."

Laurence bits his lip, letting a soft moan escape his lips. "Can I choke you, baby?"

Kier nods quickly, biting his lip and looking up at him again. It's so hot, Laurence has to hold back his orgasm.

He clasps his hands around Kier's throat and squeezes, watching him. The look on Kier's face is one of complete bliss, his moans getting softer until they're inaudible, his body twitching. His eyes slowly fall shut, gasping slightly, and he comes hard, all over his chest, right before passing out and falling limp.

Laurence gently lets go of his throat, stroking it with two fingers. He pulls out and finishes himself off, shaking, then quickly gets re-dressed. He covers Kier with the blanket and turns out the light before laying in bed next to him.

He closes his eyes and tries to catch sleep, listening to Kier's soft, even breaths next to him. Then the white-blue light of Kier's phone lighting up with a message makes his eyes open again.

Curiously, he reaches over Kier's sleeping body and grabs it from the nightstand. One unread message.

It's from Curtis. It reads: Hope you're having a good night. Sorry I didn't catch ya, was busy. Miss u<3 Talk tomorrow handsome.

Laurence shakes his head and clenches a fist. Fuck no. This wasn't happening. Curtis was downright flirting.

He knows he shouldn’t have, it's bad for him and it's Kier's privacy, but he starts slowly scrolling through the messages Kier has with Curtis. More flirting. More hearts. More nauseating texts. More disgust.

Putting his phone down, Laurence feels a small anger start to pool in his stomach.

This couldn't happen. Being friends with Kier was one thing, something Laurence didn't hardly mind. Now Curtis wanted Kier, and couldn't have him. He was Laurence's.

He had to get rid of Curtis.


	9. Revenge

SATURDAY

 

Drew goes into Lozo's, the weather outside rainy and dreary, and he's dreading the day ahead. He's wondering to himself why he still works two jobs when his job at Greenlight Agencies pays the rent and he always has plenty in the fridge. He can even buy new albums when he has money leftover. He tells himself, sure, he still works at Lozo's because he's saving up for that new Star Wars collectible on eBay, in celebration of the new film coming out, along with countless other things he doesn’t need. But who can even say - he can barely lie to himself.

It was to fill that void of boredom he got when he wasn't working or drinking.

The café is fairly busy that morning when he clocks in at 8, puffy-eyed and sluggish. Jaime is on the only open register. There's gotta be at least 5 customers already in line, some looking tired as him, and some looking impatient, checking their watches.

Jaime greets him with a nasally, "You're late" as Drew puts his blue apron on behind the counter.

"4 minutes, big deal," Drew says back, not hiding the exhaustion in his voice. He's hungover again from last night. Not that it was a surprise or a secret, Jaime could always tell.

Sure enough, Jaime is looking at him like he knows something for sure, as he writes a coffee order on a white paper cup. "Bad night?"

Nosey, annoying Jaime. "Yeah," Drew says simply, and adjusts his also blue ball cap with the company logo stitched in gold on the front. 

That's apparently enough for Jaime, he moves on. "Don't forget to clock in, and Lozo said to go see him in the kitchen and then come back to the other register."

Drew nods, lugs himself through the double doors and into the kitchen. There's a mess of dishes and food crumbs covering the main counter. Lozo is there on the other side of it, old as ever, rolling out cookie dough.

"Morning. Gonna need you to start the next batch of blueberry muffins," Lozo says when he sees Drew.

"Why are ya here?" Drew asks. "You have enough employees."

"I did have enough employees…that is, until today. Ronnie quit," Lozo explains. "Nobody else would come in."

"Ronnie quit? Like, he up and quit?"

"Mmm, Thursday. He left so quickly after that, and I haven't seen him since. Come to think of it, nobody has, not even poor ol' Scott."

Scott is Ronnie's best friend. That was bad news, Drew thinks, so bad that his heart is in his throat. "Sir, that doesn’t bother you that he might've gone missing?"

Lozo looks at him thoughtfully. "It bothers me a great deal. But I don’t jump to conclusions like you."

"I'm just saying…" Drew trails off and knows he sounds paranoid, but he doesn't really care. "With that serial killer going around, when people disappear, it should probably be looked into."

Lozo points a finger. "You are a café employee, not a detective, Drew. If you wanna worry about him, go ahead. But don't talk about it here, we have pastries to make."

He's kind of an asshole about it, but Drew knows he's right. Drew sighs and starts the oven up.

 

At precisely 9:27, Laurence Beveridge steps into Lozo's.

Drew's on the register now, dividing his time between writing coffee orders and wrapping muffins, toasting bagels. Jaime works beside him. Everything's going fine until Drew sees him.

Laurence is a lot taller than Drew remembers, eerily tall, gangly but lean. He's dressed in jeans and a light blue T-shirt today. Drew sees no sign of the black suit - Laurence even has more color in his cheeks today and his hair's brushed. It's creepy, and Drew wonders if it even is Laurence or not. 

And then he speaks. "Good morning, Drew."

So it is. And Drew doesn’t have time for any games Laurence might play. "Hello, Laurence, good morning to you. Normal coffee order to go?" he says, grabbing a cup from the stack.

"Yes, but make it two macchiatos," Laurence says coolly, casually, a purr in his voice. "Second one with an extra shot of espresso, so that makes three."

His aura is different, it's not just his clothes.

"I can do math, thank you." Drew says, a tad rudely, and swallows. "Will that be all?"

Two coffees, one with an extra shot. Two coffees.

"That will, in fact, be all," Laurence says, pauses, and then surprises Drew with exactly what he was thinking. "Should I tell Kier you say hello?"

That's about when Drew's heart sinks. He should've known. Kier had obviously been banging someone, and that someone was, of course, the creepy regular who was now picking up their morning coffee. Vaguely, he remembers stumbling inside the apartment last night drunk, and seeing Kier's door closed. It didn't take a genius to figure out why. And he was rubbing it in Drew's face like Kier was the shiny new toy. Why the fuck else?

It hurts, but then again, he needs to do his job.

Drew purses his lips and finishes writing the order on the two cups. "No, you don't need to do that, I'm good."

"It's quite alright, really," Laurence is looking so smugly at him, Drew wants to bash his face in. "He's feeling good this morning. Bruised, but good. You know how he likes the pain."

"Just shut up," Drew mutters and Laurence keeps looking at him, smirking. He rolls his eyes and laughs. It's eerie - it's actually more than eerie the way Laurence is looking at him, how he's standing, how he's craning his neck down. It's not even weird anymore - it's downright creepy. And he doesn't know why.

It's like he knows Drew knows something - but Drew doesn’t know anything, does he?

Drew can’t bring himself to care entirely. His mind is on Kier again, even when Laurence holds that creepy look at him until Drew places the coffee orders on the counter and gives him his total.

But the way Laurence was looking at him was fucking weird. He couldn’t put his finger on it.

 

"I saw your friend at the café."

Kier looks up from the magazine he's leafing through in Laurence's bed, his back against the headboard. The white sheets are scattered throughout the bed, unkempt. 

"Yes, that friend, Drew. He now knows we're fucking."

Kier laughs a little, rubbing his face and groaning. "Is he jealous?"

"Undeniably." Laurence sits on the bed and hands Kier his coffee, the macchiato with three espresso shots. He slips off his boots and looks at Kier, mirroring him as they both take sips.

"He thinks it's a secret, the little crush he has on me."

Laurence smirks. "Not anymore, I'd say. How long?"

"I dunno, maybe since we moved in together. If he was more subtle about it, I might've not guessed, but he's so damn obvious."

"Does the poor fellow dislike me? He seems to."

Kier looks at him. "I haven't really talked to him lately, but if he likes me and he knows we're a thing, he probably resents you."

Laurence pauses and looks down. "Right, but I wouldn't exactly call us a thing, Kier."

Kier looks at him as if he has two heads. "Oh, well, right."

Laurence shrugs, and that's enough for Kier to look away in annoyance.

They sip their coffee in strained silence until Kier says, "I'm off today. Do you have work?"

"Yeah. Curtis is wringing me dry with these double shifts."

"You should go in. Don't wanna get fired."

"Trying to get rid of me?" Laurence touches Kier's lips and smirks.

Kier snaps his teeth at Laurence's fingers. "You wish."

"Your neck's bruising nicely."

 

/He has to do something. He wants revenge/

 

Laurence comes into work at noon, not taking the time to clock in. Curtis is actually there in the store, organizing a shelf full of knick-knacks in the corner, and Brian is sitting at the register, looking bored.

Curtis looks up and sees Laurence, smirks. "Guess you don't need me to get a hold of your boyfriend after all?"

Laurence scowls. "How'd you know? It's not even been a day."

"I told him," Brian chimes in shamelessly, glancing up. His bright eyes are outlined in black eyeliner today. "What? He asked."

"What are the fuckin' odds, eh?" Curtis continues, antagonizing. "He just comes in here, the right place at the very right time and you guys meet again? Are you gonna live happily ever after now?"

Laurence rolls his eyes and doesn't reply.

"Did you guys fuck finally?" Curtis keeps saying. "You do look well rested."

"Yeah, because I'd tell you all about it."

Laurence can hear Brian stifle laughter, covering his mouth.

It's Curtis' turn to rolls his eyes. "Get to work, Lau. You still owe me those hours."

"No, Curt," Laurence stops him and Curtis looks up. "I don't think I will. I need to talk to you first, in private."

Curtis looks around and nods at Brian, then back at Laurence. "Fine. Backroom."

They've barely got the door shut before Laurence finally spits it out, Curtis smiling sarcastically at him as if he's dying to know what Laurence has to say.

"I quit."

Curtis's fake smile fades faster than Laurence thought possible. It takes him a few seconds to reply. "Jesus Christ, Beveridge. All that trouble for this?"

"You're right," Laurence continues. "You're right, Curt, I'm shitty at my job and someone else deserves it, someone who wants it. So I quit."

Curtis's eyes search Laurence's face, his expression suspicious. He shakes his head and blinks. "And?"

"I want something from you. Though I won't work here anymore, I want you to leave me on the payroll and send me paychecks every month for a year. Tell nothing to anyone. Anybody asks, deny everything."

Curtis stares at him. "For fucks' sake, are you out of your fucking mind?"

"I want them," Laurence's lips curve into a smile. "In return for me not telling the cops you're a millionaire drug lord with a mobile drug den who stays in this shithole to not seem suspicious."

Curtis's mouth falls open. "You're blackmailing me, okay. Can I ask why?"

"Why not? You never were a good boss. To be frank, you're an asshole who should care more about his business."

One of Curtis' lips gets caught between his teeth. "Well, you’re a sick, twisted bastard who won't get away with this."

"Oh, do tell how I could possibly not get away with it. What are you gonna do? Go to the cops and tell them about this? You'd only rat yourself out."

Curtis blinks at him. "I'm gonna go and come back. 'Cause this guy standing in front of me isn’t the Laurence Beveridge I know."

"I've always been like this, Curt," Laurence says lowly. "You're just never here to see it. Too busy selling heroin to low-life junkies to even consider my personality. I'm just another employee, another person to tease, to you. And the other employees, they don't notice it, they’re too busy or caught up in their own worlds to care. You, however, are the only one who could notice, and yet you don’t."

Curtis stares. "So? What are you getting at?"

"I'm getting at that you need to wake up, and see who I really am."

Laurence can almost see the gears turning in Curtis' head. It takes a few seconds, but suddenly a lightbulb comes on, and shows on his face.

"You."

The smirk on Laurence's face is wide and haunting.

"I knew it. I've always known it."

"Bravo, good job."

Curtis's voice is low. "You're the killer, you're the fucking serial killer. It's why never came into work, it's why Luke went missing…and it's why you're manipulating me right now."

"That's in poor taste, Curt. I prefer the term 'enchanting' you."

"You sick fuck!" Curtis whispers loudly, gripping his hair. "I should've trusted myself from the start. But this…this…you're straight up telling me you're the one? You killed Luke! How many have you killed, Beveridge? How many?"

Laurence stares broodingly at him, a look so cold Curtis stops in his tracks and shuts his mouth.

"With all due respect, I didn't tell you, Curt," Laurence says, still as coldly as ice. "You said it yourself and I didn't say you were wrong."

"The cops are gonna know about this. Everyone is gonna know what you are and what you've done," Curtis laughs exasperatedly. "What you're about to do to me."

"That's where it gets fun. You'll be caught, too. If you rat me out, I rat you out. You tell on me, I tell on you." Laurence grins deliciously. "Call it a fucked up version of quid pro quo."

"They won't believe you," Curtis is breathing heavily now. "They're not gonna trust a serial killer, are you mental?"

"Oh, dear," Laurence feigns a sigh. "You're right, Curty. Well, let's up the stakes, shall we? If I see any sign…any sign at all…that you're trying to get to the cops first to tell on me, I will tell them what you are and what you're doing, what you've done," Laurence's voice drops an octave. "And they will believe me. I will stretch the truth a bit. So much, in fact, that they will put you away for a very, very long time, that I can promise you. You won't be able to tell them about me while you're in prison, now will you?"

Curtis audibly gulps.

"So like I said, know your fate," Laurence continues, locking eyes with Curtis. "I'll be watching you, listening. I hope it keeps you awake at night, because I will be watching."

Laurence delivers the last of that sentence in a slow, threatening tone. 

Curtis, shaking, shakes his head quickly, making his hair fly up in all directions. "You're sick."

"You are not to tell anyone about this, especially so they can tell the cops for you," Laurence says. "If I find out you told anyone, or I find out that you successfully went to the cops…" Laurence laughs a little. "I'm going to find you and kill you. Trust me, I will, and I'll drain you of all your blood. You'll be nothing, just a cold corpse, like all those people you killed by selling them drugs and leading to their demise. Finally you will join your true people."

Drops of sweat are appearing on Curtis's forehead. He looks downright terrified.

"But," Laurence says, locking their eyes again. "If you do what we agreed, then spare yourself the anxiety. Give me what I want and nobody will know a thing. Life will be okay for you and you can continue your filthy drug den, maybe even for a long time. And to top it off, you'll be able to keep your precious shitty life. Do we have a deal?"

Curtis doesn’t answer right away. 

"Do we have a deal?" Laurence repeats.

"Why not just kill me now?" Curtis croaks.

Laurence looks at him before saying. "It's not the right time."

Curtis stares back and swallows hard. He says softly, "I hope you know that Kier's gonna find out, too. I hope you know it's inevitable, you bastard fuck."

Laurence smirks comically. "Please. It's a wonder he hasn't found out already. And anyway, there's no way he'd go for you. Get it out of your head."

"You're wrong, Laurence. Kier likes me."

Laurence looks at him, like he's considering it. "But not enough, Curtis." he says.

He moves away and out of the backroom, heading toward the front door. Behind his back, Laurence can hear Curtis rush to the bathroom back there, to vomit.

Sweet, sweet revenge.


	10. Trivial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile but I finally came around to updating this. Big plot changes to the overall fic! Hopefully I'll be able to update more ! Thanks for reading xoxoJ

MONDAY

 

Laurence hasn't talked to him since Saturday, so Kier has no idea he quit his job. He finds out a couple days later when he drops by the store after work.

Ash is at the front register, her hair in two braids today, one red and one black, and a bow holding her bangs in place.

Curtis isn't anywhere visible in the shop. It's sort of become a natural occurrence to Kier.

"Afternoon, Kier," Ash says when he steps in with a scarf wrapped around his neck. "What's up?"

"Is Laurence in today? The bastard hasn’t been returning my texts," Kier explains. He sounds clingy, he knows, and Laurence isn't obliged to text back, but still, it's reassurance, a basic human need.

Ash pops a bubble with her gum. "And your solution is…to find him at work?"

Kier shrugs. "I'd rather talk to someone in person than over text anyway."

"Didn't work last time."

"That was before we found each other again. We know each other's schedules."

Ash smirks. "Right, I get it, man. I hate to tell you, but he's not here."

Kier bites his lower lip. "That's odd. He told me he was working everyday this week to pay off Curtis. Did he just clock out or something?"

"Legit, he hasn't been here all day, I'm not kidding," Ash shrugs. "Maybe you should go talk to Curtis, see if he knows what's up."

"Oh, so he's in today."

"For once, he's upstairs where he should be. Go see him."

When Kier takes his scarf off and prepares to go, Ash's mouth comes open. 

"Jesus Christ. Looks like someone had fun." she says with a smirk, in regards to his yellowing hickeys. 

"Are they that noticeable?" Kier says, rubbing the back of his neck.

"From fucking space, man."

Kier smirks. "Thanks, Ash."

"Chris says hi by the way."

"Tell him I hope he recovers well, the bastard."

 

Kier knocks on Curtis's apartment door, the hanging brass number 2 rattling against the wood, and Curtis doesn't come to answer. He knocks again, louder.

"Curtis, it's me, it's Kier!"

Curtis answers the door after several seconds, poking his head out. His hair is even more unkempt than usual and he's wearing a blue bathrobe over baggy pajamas. His eyes are puffy, his skin looks dry, and he's looking sleep deprived as shit.

"Hey." Kier greets.

"Hi. Come in."

Curtis shuts the door behind Kier as soon as he scoots in. His apartment is scarily clean and neat, it doesn't look like anything is out of place like last time. Kier is confused as to why it's like this, yet Curtis's appearance makes him look ill.

"What's going on with ya, Curt?"

Curtis shakes his head, putting a pot of coffee on. Kier sits at the counter, waiting for him to say something, anything.

Curtis's eyes shift to Kier for a second and he sighs. "It's not drugs, if that's what you were thinking," he says. "I'm clean right now, man. Just haven't been sleeping."

"Because of drugs?"

"No. Insomnia, Sherlock."

It now makes sense to Kier. Curtis must've been cleaning up his apartment to tire himself out, yet he wasn't motivated to shower and shave. This happened to Drew a lot, especially because of his drinking problem.

"Uh…have you tried sleeping meds?" Kier asks. "Exercise? Chamomile tea? Or chicory root? Insomnia sure is a bitch."

Curtis meets his eyes and half-smiles. "I've tried everything in the book, man. Nothing's been helping so far."

"Really? Because I read that-"

"Look, Kier," Curtis interrupts. "Why are you even here? Where's Laurence?"

Kier bites his lip. "He's your employee, why don't you tell me?"

Curtis, amused now, looks like he's about to ask, so Kier beats him to it.

"I'm not with Laurence, if that's what's on your mind."

"Oh, well, kinda. Imagine that, eh?"

 

Kier is stewing about it, Curtis can see. "Wanna talk about it?" he asks.

"Well," Kier begins. "The very fuckin' morning after we fucked, he shrugged it off when I asked if we were a thing." Kier knows he sounds disappointed, his own voice whiny in his ears. "I mean, isn’t that the normal question to fucking ask the morning after? He was a cunt about it. Ya got any whiskey?"

Curtis yawns and beckons to the cabinet to the left of the sink and Kier goes over to it automatically.

"Laurence can be the real cunt. Speaking of him being a cunt, he quit the other day."

Kier turns after grabbing a bottle and shuts the cabinet door. "What do you mean he quit?"

"Saturday afternoon, he quit." Curtis pours Kier a mug of coffee and slides it over. Kier dumps a few shots of whiskey into it in response as Curtis watches in odd amusement.

"Damn."

"I had no idea he quit. He went in that day."

"He didn't tell you?"

"No," Kier drinks his coffee. "He said he was working all this week, and that was on Sunday."

"Oh," Curtis chuckles nervously. "Then he lied. It's not like he hasn't lied before."

Kier has downed most of his coffee before he notices Curtis is holding his own coffee mug against his chest, but not drinking it. He's slouching against the counter, his body looking limp, like he has no energy. His eyes are worse than just puffy, Kier sees that he also has dark grey circles under them.

"You look terrible."

"I feel worse than I look, trust me," Curtis says dully. "I just need to fuckin' sleep."

"When's the last time you slept?"

"Can’t even remember, everything seems so blurry, hazy, never-ending. The day melts into night and the night melts into day."

"That's rough. Been eating?"

"Not really. Insomnia takes away my appetite, even for veggie hummus wraps. God, I haven't had one in weeks. I haven’t been down in the shop at all either, it really is rough."

Kier looks at him, setting his mug down. "Blimey, is that why doesn't Ash know?"

"Hmm?"

"She has no clue Laurence quit, she thinks he's skipping work again."

Curtis exhales into his mug. "Yeah, I guess so. She doesn't ask very many questions, and I'm not down there at all lately. She's basically been running the shop, her and Brian, and I've been a shitty boss."

"Given."

"I need to give them both raises."

"Generous of you. You could've done that awhile back, don't ya think?" Kier smirks at him.

Curtis' smile fades a little after that, his mouth in a line. "Something opened my eyes, I guess. I'm a different person now."

"Oh, I noticed."

Curtis nods and Kier knows the conversation is over. He doesn’t really wanna ask Curtis what changed him in just a few days; anything that would make a person's smile fade that quickly couldn't be good, and he doesn’t really want to pry.

"I best be going," he says, getting up from the counter. "I gotta get home to Drew. See ya soon?"

"G'day, Kier. I'll see ya."

 

Kier comes home to Drew playing Halo on the Xbox, a bag of crisps between his legs along with a bottle of chocolate syrup. He looks up for a second and drops a "Hey".

"You're not drunk."

"Not yet." Drew says in a singsong voice, aiming the controller at the TV.

"It's a fuckin' weeknight," Kier says, setting his things down. "Go easy."

"No excuse, love."

Kier sits on the couch and rubs his face. "Drew, I need to talk to you about something."

Drew hits the controls a few more times, sighs and pauses the game, looking at him. "What's up? Is this about the shower curtain? Because I told you, Shane told me they mold over time and then you have to buy a new-"

"It's not the fucking shower curtain, Drew. There's something really fuckin' weird going on lately."

"Hmm. Weirder than that jumper you're wearing? Since when do you even wear jumpers?"

Good ol' Drew. "Yeah, man. Something weirder than my $115 jumper."

"Well, hit me with it, prima donna girl."

"Laurence, he…quit his job and then lied to me about it."

"Yikes."

"I went to talk to Curtis, and he throws that out there, and answers my bloody question. He hasn’t slept in 3 days. Ash doesn't even know he quit. It's like it's his and Curtis's secret, and it's driving Curtis mad. Isn't that fucking weird?"

Drew crunches a crisp, before picking up the syrup and squirting it into the chip bag. Drew is nasty like that. "Maybe somethin' went down between the two of them, somethin' really bad."

"I'm not sure."

"Why are you making it out to be a huge deal?"

Kier watches Drew consume a chocolate-covered crisp. "I guess I wasn't expecting it to affect Curtis so bad. But, yanno, after thinking about it, it can't be that. He doesn’t even like Laurence as an employee. It wouldn’t tear him up."

"So there's another reason, don't you think?"

"I know there is."

"Well," Drew begins, busy filling the top of a crisp with syrup. "I dunno. I still get a weird vibe from Laurence, man. Last time he came into the café, he looked at me so weird and brought you up in conversation, you wouldn't believe."

"Drew, I know. You tell me all the time. You're bloody obsessed."

"You know what I say? No fucking wonder he lied to you," Drew says nasally. "You pair barely know each other. You have sex and that's it, there's no emotional investment, no anything."

"It's different than that, Drew ol' boy."

"Yeah, alright."

"It doesn't explain why Curtis is acting so odd."

"Who knows? I'm just saying," Drew says, crunching another crisp and getting crumbs down his shirt. "He's a weirdo."

Kier busies himself looking at the carpet.

Drew bites his lip, tilting his head. "But you like the bastard, don't you?"

"Yeah," Kier admits and feels himself turning pink, like he's being picked on in middle school about who he has a crush on. "Which isn’t good, considering he doesn’t wanna be with me."

"People use people. It's human nature."

"Why do you even care if I like him?" Kier looks up at him suddenly. "No, really, Drew, why?"

Drew stares at him for a second, shrugs, and puts the crisps aside, tossing the syrup on top of the bag.

"Don't play thick. I know you've had this fantasy crush on me since we met."

"Maybe," Drew says casually. "It's because I just want you to be happy."

Kier's face softens. "Drew, you don’t mean that."

"Of course I mean it, dick. You're my best friend."

He doesn't notice until now, but Drew's closer now, sitting on his knees on the floor and looking at up Kier on the couch. Kier looks down at him and sighs.

"I never should've been a dick to you. You still are my best friend."

Drew shrugs it off. "It's my job to kick your ass if you are, anyway."

"Asshole." 

"Jerk."

Drew is really close to him now, uncomfortably close. He notices this and coughs, moving away to resume his video game, and Kier knows the conversation is over.

He gets up, cleans up Drew's mess on the way, and goes to bed. Drew doesn't say goodnight.

 

TUESDAY 

The next day is the first day of intern orientation week at Greenlight Agency. Drew and Kier get to be two of the main employees involved. Of course, Will puts them in charge of being guides - showing the interns around and answering questions- a job in which they have to stay together at all times. It sucks, as much as Kier loves his best friend, he doesn't like being stuck to his side for more than an hour, and the same with Drew. 

Kier has resting bitch face for most of the day, brought on by lack of sleep and Drew's constant nagging about Laurence. Sometimes he fakes a smile. Sometimes he gives Drew a death glare, so effective Drew shuts up then and there.

Will seems to not care about Kier's attitude. Then again, Will didn't care about most things.

The interns shuffle in at 9. Most of them are community college students, dressed in business casual, a lot of them look younger than 21. Kier already sees Shane checking out a few, his head poking out from the top of his cubicle wall, his glasses falling down his nose.

"Welcome!" Drew says with a lot of energy, which seems like a struggle for him as much as it is for Kier, but he's very convincing. "Welcome to Greenlight. I'm Drew," he makes a big deal out of pointing to his nametag, "And this is Kier, and we're going to be your guides today."

Most of them say hello back; some are just looking around.

"Most of you are probably here for bank telling," Kier says next. "That's upstairs. Please raise your hands if you're here for bank telling."

Nearly half the kids raise their hands.

"Alright then," Drew says. "Follow me, all. I'll guide you up to bank telling."

The morning continues like this. Will pops in sometimes and observes them and the limited number of kids they have, and he's got a cigarette behind his ear, his hair has a lack of gel in it today. Must've gotten up late. It's almost funny to Kier to see his hair unkempt.

The interns break for lunch at 12, and Kier and Drew head on foot to Papa Gino's as usual. 

"Have you talked to Laurence since last night?" Drew asks for the ten millionth time.

Kier puts his hands in his pockets and looks ahead. "He said 'Have a good day at work' this morning. I've told you this already."

"Did you reply back?"

"I said 'Thanks'."

Drew chuckles.

"What?" Kier scowls. 

"Nothing, man. You just can’t let it go."

"That he lied to me? Or that he had no reason to?" Kier asks. "I told you, I'm done with his arse."

Drew exhales, rubbing his hands together as they enter the pizza joint. "I think you're bothered by both."

"Boo-hoo my life, eh?"

Drew shrugs and stares up at the menu. "Let's get a large olive and go."

"Again with the fucking olives."

 

When Kier and Drew return, the interns are still eating in small groups. Drew goes off to talk to Shane, so Kier stays and sits in an empty seat next to one of the kids.

The kid is sitting alone, two whole rows of empty chairs separating him from the rest of the interns. He has shaggy black  
hair and Kier can see a tattoo poking out from under his shirt collar. He has a thermos full of soup on his lap, only half gone, and half a sandwich right next to it. In his right hand is his phone. He's playing Tetris.

Tetris, in present day. It's not the 90s, so that's pretty odd for a kid, though he does look slightly older than the other interns, Kier notices.

The kid glances up when Kier plops down.

"Hello."

"Hi," the kid says back and rubs his nose awkwardly. He's fidgeting with his necklace, a golden orb of amber, with a small bug fossilized in it. Kier wonders if he's wearing anymore insects.

"So, how do you like the place?" Kier asks conversationally.

The kid shrugs. "It's alright." he says, his voice deeper than Kier expects, and a little hushed.

"I'm Kier."

"I know, I was there when you introduced yourself," the kid smirks. "I'm Mitch. Mitchell Radke."

The name's oddly familiar, but Kier can’t pinpoint it. "Hi, Mitch."

They both sit in silence for a minute or so.

"So," Kier begins again. "Why Greenlight Agency?"

"My brother used to know your coworker, Drew. He suggested I come and check this place out."

"Yeah, they work together at Lozo's."

"Used to work together."

Kier looks at him. "He quit, right? Drew told me."

Mitch swallows. "Yeah, he quit and then….disappeared."

It’s Kier's turn to swallow, hard. "Wait, are you Ronnie Radke's brother?"

Mitch nods. "Yeah, I am."

"He was on the news last week."

"Yeah, he was. He isn't answering any calls, he's just gone," Mitch says, staring down. "Been gone since he quit last week.  
People are saying it's because that serial killer around here threatened him or maybe even kidnapped him. There's a  
shitload of rumors about that. The cops are starting to look into it."

"Damn. That shit is...really real, huh?"

Mitch nods and looks at him, eyes a soft green. "It's too real, yanno? I just...I want my brother back."

"I'm real sorry for what happened, Mitch." 

Mitch smiles a bit, taking in the sincerity in Kier's voice. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, that's why I'm here."

"About my brother's disappearance - did Drew see or hear anything suspicious when he worked with him at Lozo's?"

"Not that he's told me."

Mitch stares down again.

"Why do you ask?" Kier prompts.

Mitch talks quietly, leaning his head toward Kier's ear. "Look. The cops don't want to connect Ronnie's disappearance with  
the serial killer just yet, mostly because like I said, it's all rumors people are spreading."

"Right."

"The cops, they're stupid. There's others who have suspects already."

"Others?"

"Yes. Suspects that just might be accurate enough to accuse someone."

Kier swallows and stares at him. "They think the killer has Ronnie?"

"Could be. He could've possibly just made Ronnie leave town and go away for awhile. That's the mildest thing he could  
do."

"Seems like a messy thing for a serial killer to do, eh?"

"You'd think so, but people like that are known to manipulate," Mitch says. "And what I've seen, ha. It makes Ted Bundy look like the second coming of Christ."

It clicks finally in Kier's head, and he puts his finger on it. "Wait a minute. You're Radke. You're a detective. Mitchell Radke!"

Mitch smirks. "Yeah, that'd be me."

"The fuck you doin' here?

"I lied, my brother never asked me to talk to anyone. I came here with my own intentions, my boss doesn't even know I'm here."

"You're undercover."

"That I am, Kier."

Kier, amused, asks, "Okay, but why'd you have to show up in person? You do realize we're living in a tech age, right?"

Mitch laughs. "Kier, I'm undercover for a reason. I'm a consulting detective. The cops are on my ass sometimes about cases, and they told me specifically that they'd handle this case, and I thought to myself, 'not again', 'cause everyone knows they're not gonna do shit until it’s too late."

"Interesting. But how'd you end up here of all places? We are in bum-fuck Jersey, after all."

"Your coworker Drew said he has physical description for a suspect. I came to talk with him again, but I had to be undercover."

Kier's eyes shift over to Drew in the corner, talking with Shane. Shit.

"Why?" Kier asks, looking back at Mitch. 

"He came in the other day, talked to us for a little, and asked what we can do with the info he has. But he told me over the phone he has more now, even pictures. I need this lead, see, so I couldn't say no."

"He came to see you guys?" Kier says, feeling like someone's pulling on his stomach with a rope.

"He did. He explains in detail that there's this guy leaving hardware stores, going in and out of restaurants…quite the character, very out of place in this town, so naturally people are nosy and suspicious, including your friend Drew. He has an entire profile now, he's almost imperative."

The rope is gone - Kier's stomach now feels like ice. "Jesus Christ, a physical description?"

Mitch gets up and puts the lid on his thermos, gathering his things. "Height and weight, even. Like I said, he was pretty thorough and accurate with it, too."

"If you don't mind me asking, what exactly did he describe to you?"

"He said the killer is a tall man, maybe six feet. Pale, black hair, black clothes, most of the time it's a suit he's wearing."

/You look like just the type of guy to take me home tonight/

"Kier, you don't look so good."

"I'm fine," is Kier's reply, but he can barely get his lips to move.

"Good. I'm off to talk to Drew, I guess. Are you sure you're okay, man? You look sick."

Kier reassures Mitch he's fine, before going off and shutting himself in the one-person bathroom. He looks in the mirror, panting, grips at his hair and lets a whine escape his lips, a whine resembling, "Fuck, no."


	11. Wake Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got around to editing this finally. thnx for reading xo

TUESDAY

Kier and Drew have a quiet dinner together that night, again. It's become a normal happening, what with their odd friendship. It's peaceful and all, until Kier says what's been on his mind since he left work.

"Drew? Question."

"Shoot."

"Why'd you go to the detective agency and try to turn Laurence in for being a serial killer?"

Drew looks up at Kier with a mouth full of noodles, chewing slowly. After almost twenty minutes of silence over dinner, Kier spurts this out. He can barely taste the Thai food they ordered in, Kier's attitude has put him on edge all evening.

"I didn't turn him in, man," he says, swallowing. "I gave someone a description, that's all."

"Oh, okay," Kier says, folding his napkin. "Then how'd you know what the killer looked like? Did ya run into him on the streets? Or is it because you stalk Laurence fucking day and night and somehow have this notion he's the killer because he's 'weird'?"

Drew slams his fork down and looks at him. "What prompted this, Kier?"

"A fucking undercover detective told me about you and your promise of a lead, while we were at the fuckin' office, Drew. His name's Mitch Radke, know him?"

Drew, staring at his plate, swallows. "He needed a lead, and I gave one to him, I wanted to help. He's so lost since his brother went missing, Kier."

Kier rests his head on his fist and looks at him. "That's not your problem or your job, Drew, yanno? We're tax collectors in this shithole."

"For fucks' sake, you sound like Will," Drew says, with a short laugh. "I think he's finally rubbing off on you. You're becoming just like him."

"Fuck off with that."

"Either that or you're becoming like Laurence. This guy, Mitch, is a mess, what's wrong with helping him? Have you no compassion?"

Kier shakes his head. "I'm just saying, it wasn't your fuckin' place. I want you to explain why you did it."

"You want me to explain?" Drew says, getting up and slamming his chair in, facing him. "Too fucking bad. I'm not explaining my actions until you wake the fuck up, Kier!"

"What are you going on about…"

"Laurence is the one, hello. He's the one responsible for the disappeances, for Curtis's behavior, everything! He even matches the fucking description!"

Kier stares at him. "Do you think I'm that thick that I'd believe your obvious attempt to rid Laurence from my life?"

"You," Drew seethes, pointing at him and shaking slightly. "You fucking egomaniac. This isn't about you! I've had suspicions since day fucking one! And you," he stops to laugh. "You can't see it, you'll never, ever see it. You can’t because he's got you wrapped around his finger, under his spell."

"You're wrong. He's not, he's just weird and you're fucking delusional," Kier says, biting his lip. "Maybe if you didn't obsess over him, you wouldn't overthink shit like this. Grow the fuck up, Drew."

Drew presses his hand to his forehead. "You're in denial, you know I'm right. Laurence is manipulating you."

Partial silence.

"I know what he is," Drew says grudgingly. "And that's enough to make him go away for a long time."

"And what is he, Drew?" Kier challenges. "Fucking say it."

"He's a cold-blooded murderer."

They both go silent. Kier can see tears forming in Drew's eyes from anger, sees him brush them away when he thinks Kier doesn’t see. 

"I protected you, Kier," Drew says shakily, quietly. "I could've told them you know him, told them you fucked him for Christ sake, but I didn't, I kept my mouth shut."

"Oh, you kept it shut all right, Drew."

"Fuck you."

Kier watches Drew storm off to his room, but not before saying, "They'll find out, Kier. They will."

And that, of course, could mean one of two things.

Drew slams his door and doesn’t come out for the rest of the night. Kier remains in the living room, cleaning up their dinner mess and then staring at the mind-numbing TV for hours until he finally wills himself to go to bed.

 

Kier can’t sleep, though he didn’t expect himself to be able to.

He's sick with it, an undying, anxiety-ridden sickness. Just when he drifts off to sleep, he thinks he's dreaming, and he can’t breathe, like he's drowning. He ends up jerking awake with a pounding feeling in his chest. Then he feels like he's falling, and it happens again, and again, three times that night.

Somewhere inside, he knows Drew could be right, might be right. He alternates going from "it's impossible" to "oh, shit, maybe not."

Either it's true or it's all pure coincidence in this hazy Tilt-A-Whirl mess that's become Kier's life.

His own best friend was hell-bent on proving his lover was the killer.

And the worst part was, he couldn't settle on a side. He didn’t know if Drew was right or completely, completely wrong.

Kier gets about a full half hour of sleep that night.

 

WEDNESDAY

Kier, having the extreme need to contact Curtis, calls him three times the next day while he's on his lunch break. Every time he tries it goes to voicemail, Curtis's deep, nasally voice telling the person on the other end to leave a message or "get the fuck out". 

Kier does leave a message, telling him to give him a call as soon as he can, and finally gives up on try number four. He tries texting him, telling him pick up his phone, and still gets no reply.

It’s raining buckets outside and he's tired, fucking exhausted, and still on the clock for five more hours. Drew works quietly across the room in his cubicle, the shuffling of papers annoying Kier to no end. He's not speaking to or looking at Kier much. There's a few glances at him and occasional work speak, but other than that, he's quiet. His desk is scattered with Styrofoam coffee cups.

Will is in his office, the door shut tight since Kier has come in. Then it opens around maybe eleven, and this is the first time Kier's seen Will that morning. He shows up at Kier's desk with his arms crossed.

"My office, now."

Kier wonders what he could possibly want, he's done most of his work for today and isn't goofing off at all.

When he follows Will into his office, Will beckons him to sit. But before he even sits, Will starts talking. 

"Shane told me about yesterday's visitor."

"Who?" Kier blanks out. The world is swimming, hazy and cloudy, from his lack of sleep. He wonders if he's hallucinating all this. Is Will's head supposed to be moving like that?

Will's loud, deep voice kinda breaks him out of it, and his vision clears a tad. "We had an unexpected visitor here, Kemp. A Mr. Mitch Radke, I think, he said he was a detective with the agency."

Kier swallows, shaking his pounding head, mostly from caffeine intake, caffeine that obviously hasn’t done shit for him. "Yes, he was, sir, we spoke for a bit."

"You don't see a problem with that?"

When Kier doesn't reply, his lips slightly parted and his eyes falling shut, Will asks, "Jesus, man, are you mental?"

"No…just tired, I have insomnia."

"Right. Well, do you not see a problem with what I've just described?"

"No, sir, I definitely do see a problem," Kier manages. "But it's not exactly my issue, he was here to see Drew."

"Lemme put it this way, Kemp, my boy," Will says, taking a last drag of his cigarette and plopping it end-side down into the black ashtray. "You both helped him. He needed a lead and Drew gave him one, you're the one who led him to Drew."

Kier blinks. "Bad thing?"

"No, that's not the problem," Will says. "The problem in question is that you and Drew gave him information not related to the company, while on the clock, too. We have no legal standing, do you understand that that's against company policy? We're not supposed to be involved in shit like this, you know that. You're supposed to do your job and keep outside interests, outside."

"I'm sorry, sir, I know it wasn't right. Don't know what I was thinking." Kier says dully, and he knows he's taking half the blame even though this is mostly Drew's fault.

"Excuses, excuses," Will laughs and rubs his forehead, a piece of hair falling down. "You both could've caused Travis to backhand my ass into next week. Which is why, and I'm sorry about this, but-"

"You're firing me."

Will sighs and doesn’t look at him, nods. "Woolnough and you are both terminated, affective tomorrow. He's next in my office for me to break the news to."

Kier slowly gets up, fist clenched, not sure if he was feeling anger or just flat, depressive denial. He pauses before saying, "I'm sorry I let you down, sir."

For the first time since Kier's first day at Greenlight, he sees Will's face soften. "Me, too, Kier. Me too."

Kier turns to leave and Will stops him.

"If Travis wasn't such a dick about this shit, I’d let this slide. You have potential, Kier. You always have. And you've always done a good job here."

And for the first time since Kier's first day, he believes Will's sincerity. He knows Will really will miss him.

He smiles a bit, sadly. "I know you would, Will. You're an asshole, but you do have a heart."

Will accepts it and fidgets with a pen. "In retrospect, I do have one more thing to tell you."

"Eh?"

"It looks like even though Drew broke company rule, he did do some justice. The cops wanna see you and Drew at the station later."

 

"You got us both fired."

Drew glances at him once as he drives, and then back at the road. He flicks the dial on the side of the wheel to make the wipers move as the rain pours down.

"And to top it off, now we're headed for the bloody police station of all places."

"Jesus," Drew mutters. "It's both our faults, calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Kier exclaims and holds his head in his right hand, leaning his elbow on the car window. "Fuck, Drew. I didn't want any part in this, I told you that."

"I didn't think me talking to a detective was gonna get us fired, Kier, if I did, I would've fucked off."

"That's your problem, Drew," Kier says. "You never fuck off. You always have to intervene with everything in my life."

Drew grips the wheel and looks like he's restraining the urge to slam his face into it.

Kier shuts up, staring out the window until they reach the police station. He knows Drew is blaming himself for everything, but he doesn't have the desire or energy to admit it's his fault too.

 

Downtown, Officers Iero and Toro take Kier in to question him. Toro is a tall man with curly brown hair and a warm smile, and Iero is a much shorter dark-haired man with tattoos, looking like his uniform is a tad too big for him. They sit down with Kier, but get about two questions into the interview before Kier freezes up.

"Mr. Kemp, we've asked you twice already. Have you ever associated with Laurence Beveridge?" Officer Toro says again.

"Do you know him at all?" Officer Iero prompts.

This was their third question. And damned if Kier knew exactly what to say. Everything he thought of saying sounded mental. His eyes fall to the table again before he makes eye contact with one of the cops. Finally, he says, "Yeah, I know him."

"In what accords, Mr. Kemp? Friend, coworker, acquaintance?"

Kier struggles to swallow, his throat dry. He pauses before admitting, "We had sex a few times, officer. I was his partner, give or take. Can I please have some water?"

Officer Iero gestures to the water cooler behind Kier and puts a pen behind his ear. Kier gets up, retrieves a cup of gross-tasting water and sits before Iero asks, "Were you and Laurence Beveridge in a romantic relationship, Mr. Kemp?"

"No, by partner I meant sexual partner," Kier said with a roll of his eyes. "It was sexual for the time being, we communicated on and off. He never wanted a romantic anything."

Officer Toro nods, pauses and then asks, "Mr. Kemp, did he ever abuse you?"

"No."

There's a short silence, and then Officer Iero gestures to his neck. "Are those choking marks on your neck, Mr. Kemp?"

Kier's fingers brush his neck and the nausea hits him like a wave, his mind swimming. "Yes, sir. It was consensual, though."

"He choked you because you wanted it."

"Aye, sir."

"Are you saying he did put them there?" Officer Iero asks. "Beveridge, I mean."

Kier nods, sipping the water. "We fucked one night and I asked him to, you can ask him. You really get a thrill."

Officer Toro shrugs it off, staring down at his hands. "Did you notice anything off about Mr. Beveridge while you were with him?"

"No, sir."

"Anything out of the ordinary?"

"Nope."

"Did he disappear at odd times? Lie about where he was going? Lie about anything else?"

"Not that I remember. I wasn't exactly childhood friends with the bloke. I didn't know him all that well."

"So, you basically only had sex with him?"

"Well, we went on a date once."

Officer Iero exhales, shuts his notepad and folds his hands, looking at Kier.

"Mr. Kemp, do you personally think Laurence Beveridge is the killer we're looking for?"

The very thought Kier has been struggling with puts that weird nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach again. He's sick with it; visibly, he licks his lips.

"I have no opinion, sir. I don’t think there's anything that can prove it but what Drew has to say and what have you. But I also don't think you can prove it is true."

"So you're indifferent about it, correct?"

"Correct."

"And you’re friends with Drew Woolnough, right?"

"Long time friends, yes."

"Do you think he's telling the truth?"

Kier hesitates. "No, sir. I think he's overthinking." He meets their eyes and feels his head throb. "I confronted him about it the other night."

"Mmmm," Officer Toro muses. "Lemme ask you, Mr. Kemp, do you have Mr. Beveridge's number?"

"I do."

"Would you mind calling him up and asking him to come down to answer a few questions for us?"

Kier sits up a little. "Can I ask why you need to do that?"

"Well, when we have a serious conviction like Drew's, we have to deal with it professionally. We wanna make sure nobody's lying."

"It also saves us a trip," Officer Iero chimes in, taking a sip of coffee out of a steaming Styrofoam cup.

"Oh, yeah. Sure, then."

"Put him on speaker, please, once he answers."

Kier, mind numb, dials Laurence up. Don't pick up, don't pick up. The line rings twice before he answers, his tone bright.

"Hello, Kier?"

Kier exhales. "Hi."

"What's up?"

"Are you busy?"

"Not really, why?"

The words don't form on his tongue at first. "The…the cops want you to come down to the station. They have questions for you."

Laurence pauses. "Oh. Alright. I'll be there in a few," he says lightly, and as normal as anything.

He hangs up and Kier exhales in relief, still feeling sick, his stomach churning. For no reason he can pinpoint, hearing Laurence's voice struck a sudden fear into him. He didn't wanna see him at all; he didn't want to talk to him or hear him talk.

Officer Toro looks at him sympathetically. "We appreciate you doing this for us, Mr. Kemp. I know it may be hard, you not being together and all."

"You're welcome," is all Kier can manage.

 

Laurence shows up 10 minutes later, wearing acid-washed jeans and a red-and-blue flannel over a black T-shirt spotted with lint, like he just woke up or something. To add to the look, his hair is crazy and unkempt today, the lower lids of his eyes outlined in grey eyeshadow, making them look more sunken. He's wearing that green ring on his right index finger, and when Kier sees it he instinctly puts two fingers to his throat, remembering the hands that were around his throat.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Beveridge," Officer Iero greets as Laurence sits next to Kier, who tenses slightly.

"Good afternoon to you too, officer. Mind you, that color blue is amazing on you."

I'll be damned, Kier thinks as Officer Iero blushes slightly and thanks him quickly. It was all so fucking surreal. Kier isn't sure it's even happening right now, it had to be his lack of sleep. He needs to pinch himself, throw cold water or something on his fucking face, wake the fuck up somehow.

"Anyway," Officer Toro cuts in. "Would you be willing to answer some questions for us?"

"Of course, sirs."

Kier doesn't look at him - he can't, he shouldn't. He can feel Laurence's eyes on him occasionally, though, even if it's just a simple glance. It's creepy, almost like the feeling you get when you get a drink of water in the middle of the night and feel like something is watching.

"Where were you between the hours of 6 pm and 2 am four nights ago?"

"Interesting question. Was that last Saturday?"

"Yes. That's about the day and time Ronnie Radke went missing, Mr. Beveridge."

"Why, I was sleeping, I presume." And oh, his voice, his tone, they make Kier's head ache.

"At 6 pm?" Officer Iero inquires, an eyebrow raised slightly.

"I had a long work day I believe, don't really remember. I used to work at Curtis's antique shop uptown. You can talk to my neighbors and ask if I was home, I'm sure I was."

"And what about the night before that, uh, Friday?"

"I was with Kier." Laurence says, but he doesn’t look in Kier's direction this time. It's like he's suddenly not there. "We were fucking, you see. Kier likes it when I choke him."

Kier grunts and calls him a wanker under his breath, but doesn’t look at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Laurence smirk a little.

Officer Toro is chuckling slightly. "Like a married couple you two are."

"We're really not," Kier denies.

"Anyhow," Officer Iero says, looking down at his notes. "We have a person here right now who's a big fan of yours, a Drew Woolnough. He's been watching you for awhile, I suppose. He's convinced you're the killer. Are you aware?"

After a pause, Laurence says coolly, "Well, no, I wasn't aware. I honestly don't see why I'm here, officer, I had no idea he was even stalking me. What's he got on me?"

"Pictures of you exiting hardware stores, things of the sort."

Laurence rolls his eyes comically. "Oh, Lord. He obviously hasn’t been stalking me enough to know I garden."

"He is an odd guy," Officer Iero says, amusement in his voice. "He's got a whole profile on you. Kier here says he's overthinking it."

"And there's no doubt in this mind of mine that Kier is correct," Laurence says, still not looking at him when he mentions Kier. "You don't think that's a little suspicious? It's like he's trying to make himself look innocent by pinning it on a poor bloke like me."

Kier listens and glances at Laurence for the first time, that creepiness still there.

"Do you think so, Mr. Beveridge?"

Laurence sits back in his chair. "Obviously, to me, someone like this is more suspicious than I could ever be. There's no evidence against me but pictures of me leaving stores with odd items and the lot? Oh, please."

"You do have a point, Mr. Beveridge."

"I mean, why stalk me in the first place? I am an odd guy too, true," Laurence chuckles, but his tone changes. "But I'm no killer. You lot can search my apartment, you won't find anything."

"You're rather confident," Officer Toro comments as Kier watches.

"I am," Laurence flashes a smile, all teeth. "Because I've got nothing to hide, sir."


	12. Out of Chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow ..200 hits! Thanks for reading, you guys are awesome! Chapter after this has a lot more sex and kinky shit, so that'll be nice. This chapter, however, is all plot-setting and such. Thank you again <3
> 
> xoxoJ

They do search Laurence's place, but Kier hasn't heard anything about it yet.

Drew is next, he's brought in to be questioned when they finish with Laurence. Kier doesn’t know whether to worry or just sit and stare blankly at the wall. In the end, he does both, why not.

Laurence is waiting outside the room with him, continuing his occasional glancing at Kier, then looking away as if he was never looking. They're sitting 2 chairs apart, Laurence picking at his nails and humming.

"You haven't been returning my calls." Kier breaks the silence, like a hammer through glass.

Laurence glances up once and his eyes trace the wall in front of him, up to the clock and down to the row of chairs across from them. "My apologies, I've been busy."

"That entire sentence is bullshit."

"Hmmm?"

"You're not sorry," Kier says, his voice on edge. "And busy with fucking what? The job you quit?"

"I have another job now," Laurence defends, looking at Kier with disdain and this time Kier looks back at him. "I work at that marketplace on 4th now."

Kier sits back. "You didn't tell me you quit work at Curtis's."

"It was irrelevant, I suppose. Why do you care?"

Kier shrugs, tugging at his piercing, and laughs. "I just like to know, I guess, eh?"

Laurence chuckles.

"Fuck off."

"Make me."

And that was it. Fuck it- fuck whatever Kier was thinking, he doesn’t know. He moves to the chair next to Laurence, pulls him in by his shirt and kisses him.

He hasn't kissed Laurence since that morning before he left, and it isn't anything like that kiss. It's not erotic or romantic, it's to obtain dominance.

"I missed you," Kier mutters, and he's realizing that Laurence is too good at this, he's a born dominant. He knows for certain about 5 seconds after the kiss begins. Laurence takes a grip on Kier's hair, pulling slightly as his guides Kier's lips against his, his other hand brushing his throat.

Kier really doesn’t care at this point, they're making out in the middle of a fucking police station. The way Laurence was kissing him was making him almost forget. It sounded cliché and gross and really heterosexual romance movie, but-

The door suddenly opens and they separate quickly, though it's basically pointless in doing so, as the way Kier fixes his hair and shirt is obvious. Laurence rubs his lips delicately and doesn't look at Kier again. The door shuts behind the person and Kier sees it's Officer Toro, heading to get more coffee as if he's really gonna need it today.

 

"I'm not a criminal," Drew is saying, his arms resting on the table. They've been doing this for 15 minutes now and for some reason Drew isn't processing this. He fucking can't- it was mental.

"We aren’t calling you a criminal, Mr. Woolnough."

He swallows. "This is crazy, I'm not sure I'm even following."

Officer Iero sighs and takes a pen from behind his ear. Drew hears him suck his teeth a little and stare down at the yellow notepad. Around this time, Officer Toro returns with a styrofoam cup in hand.

"Can we get you some water, Drew?"

Drew almost laughs. It was like they were really trying to be his friend now, calling him by his first name and shit. "No, you can listen to me is what you can do."

Officer Toro folds his hands and looks at him. "The evidence you're showing us that, ahem, you believe Laurence Beveridge is the infamous serial killer we're looking for, well, it isn't exactly evidence. It's mostly word of mouth by you."

"Okay," Drew says, fidgeting with his hoodie zipper. "Right. Well, what about a second opinion, yanno? What about Kier, eh?"

"He doesn't have an opinion, Drew," Officer Iero says. The lights in this room really brought out the colors and patterns of his tattooed arms and fingers, Drew notices. "He remains indifferent."

"He said he has no opinion? He said that?" Okay, something inside Drew has definitely gone off now. "Are you kidding?"

"We aren't kidding, Drew."

"This isn't right."

"Mr. Beveridge, uh, he does present a good case, however." Officer Toro says delicately. "And with how defensive you're getting, we kinda have to take it as a hint or sign." 

"Take it as a sign? How about you do your fucking job?" Drew couldn't stop the words from escaping his mouth - it was like word vomit. "I'm not the one you're looking for, sirs. Laurence is."

Iero clears his throat. "That'll be enough, Mr. Woolnough."

"You've got to be kidding me," Drew laughs. "You can't be believing this, officers."

"We're sorry, Drew. This is a very serious matter."

"Look, you can search my apartment, how 'bout that?" Drew asks. "Will that make you believe me? Do it, I'm innocent."

The officers exchange looks before Officer Iero says, "Hmm. Mr. Beveridge said the same thing."

"He what?"

"He suggested we search his apartment, too," Officer Toro says, with a tilt of his head. "And you probably saw that we sent some units over to his address. From what they've said so far, it's completely clean."

Drew's heart feels like it's about to burst. "Clean? That's bullshit, he obviously hid everything. Or he has another place where he kills his victims - like a warehouse. Look for one of those-"

"Drew, look, we are done with Mr. Beveridge," Officer Iero says sternly. "He isn't the one we're looking for, he is off our list, out of the picture."

"Bullshit. And I'm on it?"

Officer Toro nods and shuffles some papers. "We do have probable cause to search your place. If we don't find anything, we'll let you go, Drew, and this case is back where it started."

Drew, biting his thumbnail, barely hears what he says. He's dissociating, maybe, he thinks, though he hasn’t for a long time. This couldn't be happening.

He has a bad feeling about this.

 

When they let Drew go from the questioning room, he gets Kier away from Laurence, though for a few minutes, and the first thing he does is push him against the wall.

Kier is shocked to say the least. "Jesu, relax, no need to be rough." he says as Drew grips the front of his shirt.

"You don't believe me?" Drew is asking. "You have no opinion on anything, really? You don't believe your best mate?"

"That's not it, Drew."

"That's exactly it, Kier. Laurence is more important than me, like he's always been!"

"Come off it a little," Kier exhales. "You're all riled up."

"Oh, shove off. Just say it - that bastard has always been more important than me."

Kier swallows, licks his lips and meets Drew's eyes. "You are both important to me. That's why I want this whole thing to be fucking over."

"It won't be over, Kier," Drew deadpans, locking their eyes. "The cops are searching our place."

Kier's brow furrows and he feels the remnants of ice in his stomach, like a sickly cold freezing his insides and his chest. "What the fuck?"

Drew laughs once and shakes his head. "Yanno why? They think I'm the bloody killer. And congratulations, Kier," he releases the grip on Kier's shirt to spread his arms as if to present something. "You're the bloke that helped them!"

Kier looks at him, then at Laurence, who's calmly sitting away from them, glancing up now and again as Drew's voice fluctuates in the room.

"I didn't," Kier argues. "Don't be a cunt."

"Touchy, touchy." Laurence chimes in.

"Stay out of this, dickhead." Drew says, to which Laurence chuckles.

"I think you need to calm down, Drew."

"Calm down, how can I?" Drew laughs again, and Kier sees his white teeth flash. "This is all so fucked up."

Kier plays with his piercing with his tongue, and lowers his voice. "Drew, you're my best mate. You need to calm down and keep it on the down low, relax a little and you'll be free. They're searching our apartment, right? They won't find anything."

Drew exhales, feeling almost relieved. "You're right."

"It's not gonna happen, Drew."

"Okay, but that's easy for you to say, Kier, you're not being accused," Drew says and covers his face. He rubs it, hard and looks back up at Kier. "Look, I need you to testify against Laurence, Kier. I beg you, please do something."

Kier swallows, glances at Laurence, and the way Laurence is looking back at him is making his brain scream no, and knows he can't. "Drew, ol' boy, I can't accuse Laurence if he isn’t the one. The cops won't believe it, they already don't. I think they should just handle this."

Drew looks like he's about to protest, about to bitch him out for this, like he always does, so Kier does the last thing he expects himself to do - he kisses him.

It's a short kiss, very short and sweet, and Drew's lips are soft and he tastes of coffee. It makes Kier's head swim - and then he realizes what he's actually doing. 

Kier breaks it, though he feels that Drew was going to be the one to break it moments before. When he meets Kier's eyes again, Drew says, "Thanks for nothing."

Kier, knowing he definitely deserved that, goes off to the washroom without a word, leaving Drew standing there and Laurence looking at him amusedly.

Drew's eyes shift to him, wanting to choke the life out of him for the third time in his life. "This doesn’t matter," Drew tells him, falsely confident. "Yes, I've been accused. But they're gonna search our place and find nothing and then your plan will backfire, dick."

"We'll see." is all Laurence says.

 

Drew, Kier and Laurence wait at the station for the cops to return. Drew waits in the questioning room, under the close watch of Officer Olsdal. He really has no idea why Laurence is still fucking here, he's off the officers' list now apparently, but he assumes it's either because Kier begged him to stay, the needy cunt, or because Laurence is just eager to see Drew go down.

Right. Could be a mixture of both.

 

Kier sits near Laurence this time outside the room, his head in his hands mostly, not looking at him. He doesn't know what time it is, he doesn't care enough to know, he just keeps staring down at the tile floor, carving patterns into it with his eyes. He's counted every one of the tiles 30 times, and doesn’t know what to do now.

When the cops do return, it's all a blur.

 

"Have you ever seen these before, Mr. Woolnough?"

Drew can't stop staring at what they brought back. Evidence, he thinks it is. Fake evidence, planted evidence, evidence someone put in their apartment to fuck up Drew's life. And who else would but Laurence? Who else could conceive a plan like this but him, break into their apartment and do fuck knows what, but Laurence? When did he even do this?

This was all fucked up.

Bloodied clothes lay there in Drew's eye view -white shirt, pair of jeans. Along with a murder weapon, a kitchen knife. And oh - the icing on the cake - pictures of dead victims. All of it made him sick looking at it. From the corner of his eye he sees Kier through the glass in the waiting room, not looking in his direction. His head is resting on Laurence's shoulder, Laurence looking at his phone, bored. He can see the light reflecting off the watch on Kier's wrist. 

"We searched your place, found all this. Now tell us, have you seen it before?" Officer Toro asks again.

I mean, Drew does form in his head what's happening right now. But his thoughts are so preoccupied with Kier he doesn't know how or what to speak. Kier, his best friend, refusing to help him. 

"No," he says finally, shakily. "No, I didn't do it, I swear to God. I've never seen any of this. I…I think I've been framed."

Fucking bastard betrayer.

"Right. You know where this was, Mr. Woolnough?" Officer Iero asks next, gesturing toward the knife. "Hidden, very expertly but still findable. That shows us someone was indeed trying to hide it. It looks previously washed as well, like whoever hid it wanted the evidence gone."

"By someone, you mean you think it's me."

"Correct."

This was all Kier's fault.

"Just because you found this in my apartment means I'm the killer, right?"

"I think you'll find we have justifiable cause, Mr. Woolnough." Officer Iero deadpans. "What is really thought-provoking is how you think you could get away with this."

"Pardon?"

"You told us we could search your residence and we did, but your uh…implements weren't hidden well enough. We see this as a sign of cockiness."

"I swear, I told you to search it because I didn’t fucking do it," Drew says. His voice is calm, monotone, but he's shaking. "I'm telling the truth, I didn't think I'd be fucking framed. I know it sounds crazy."

Officer Toro meets his eyes and keeps a solemn expression. "We're sending this down to the lab to confirm DNA. You will be arrested, Mr. Woolnough."

Drew doesn’t have anything else to say. The next thing he knows, he's being handcuffed and hearing the words, "You're under arrest. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law." And the rest is muffled to him. He's not hearing anything, seeing anything but white, so shocked that the world has gone blank before his eyes.

 

Somewhere in his field of vision Drew sees Kier after he's arrested. He thinks he's still there in the waiting room, but he hears one of the officers answer him saying he isn't, that he'd left awhile ago, but he hadn't left with Laurence.

Oh, glory. Sweet glory, sweet revenge.

Drew is put in a holding cell for the night. He gets a cot and a sink and whoopee, it's like being in jail already. The cold smell of metal is rotting the air, and Drew's upset, confused, angry - yet scarily accepting his fate, slowly, but still accepting it.

This was the end.

 

When the lab results come back the next day, Iero breaks it to him. He's sitting there in his clothes from yesterday, needing a shower, a shave, some coffee. Mostly, he needs to just go the fuck home, but he knows what comes next is jail. It was too late. They thought him guilty and he wouldn't be getting out this time.

"Luke Illingworth."

Drew raises his head. "What?"

"The DNA test confirmed the blood on the murder weapon and the clothes is Luke Illingworth's."

Inside, Drew feels what he recognizes as sweet relief, underneath all the dread. This right here just proved it - it had been Laurence. Laurence had killed Luke, Drew always knew that. Only Laurence had access to something like Luke's bloodied clothes and the weapon that killed him. Only Laurence could've framed him with those things, it was him. He wasn't losing his mind.

That sick fucking bastard.

"I've never met the man in my life," Drew tries to reason.

"He was the infamous serial killer's sixth victim," Officer Iero says, leaning forward. "According to the papers and our reports. Killed a few weeks ago. The blood tested is from his exact estimated date of death, March 3rd, not any older, not any newer. It's an exact match."

"I don't know him."

"Well, he must've known you."

Drew, breathing heavily, looks down and back up again. His voice is weak, monotone. He tries one last time. "You can't do this to me."

"We can, Mr. Woolnough, and we are."

"Do a lie detector test."

"Not applicable, we have solid evidence."

"Call another witness in."

"There are none."

Drew slams his hands on the table. "Make Kier take a goddamn lie detector test then, he knows I'm innocent!"

"You're out of chances, Drew."

"Look," Drew grips the chair and looks at them hard. "I know I seemed really suspicious before but I'm telling you, I'm not a killer. That blood and all that shit wasn't my doing, I don't even know how it got into my house. Ask Kier, he lives with me!"

Officer Iero shakes his head. "Like we said before, there's no real evidence against Laurence except word of mouth. Your friend Kier-"

"Doesn't have an opinion apparently."

"He thinks you were overthinking." Officer Toro says and rubs his nose.

The words come to Drew's lips before he even realizes it, the word vomit again. "That fucking dick."

"Right," Iero says matter-of-factly with a glance at Toro. "Look, Drew, we wanted to believe you. We thought you were gonna help us find the killer and in a way, you did."

"Because it's you." Toro adds, looking at him blankly.

"You can't do this to me."

"You're being transferred to the county jail," Officer Toro tells him. "You'll be held there until trial."

Drew, distraught, does something he thought he'd never do. He starts laughing, soft at first and then louder, and louder.

"Fuck you."

"Excuse me, Mr. Woolnough?"

"I said fuck you," Drew flips them both off. "You're gonna pay for this. I deserve to be set free and that bastard deserves to rot in prison."

"Enough," Iero says with a roll of his eyes, like he does this everyday. "You're coming with us, Drew."

 

TWO DAYS LATER (Friday)

The next morning is hazy and glary, the sun trying to shine through the clouds. Kier can't tell if it's cold or warm outside, but he doesn't want to move. So he doesn't - he lies in bed, wondering if his ex-coworkers at Greenlight miss him yet. He wonders if Will misses being an asshole to him. He wonders if Shane misses their occasional conversation, or if they've taken his cubicle decorations down yet and replaced him with someone else. He wonders if they're gossiping about Drew yet.

Drew.

He's unemployed now, but Kier has been sleeping less when he should really be getting extra sleep. The night drags on worse than the day. He goes to bed at 6 that night, telling himself he needs it, and he drifts in and out of sleep, waking up from dreams, such vivid dreams. One dream was just full of blood, staining white clothes and white backgrounds and white floors.

He misses Drew, who would've comforted him when that happened. It's lonely as fuck without him. Sometimes he thinks about the kiss they shared before he got taken away - how Drew was kissing him back, wanting to kiss him more but Kier had broken it and -

He really doesn't want to relive that again.

It was all Kier's fault. It's enough to eat him alive, the fact that he can't do shit about anything now, the fact that he should've done something, anything, while he could.

But he can't say. He still doesn't know what's wrong or right. The main thing he feels is guilt, an eroding, piercing guilt that's causing him to lose sleep. It's torturing him to madness.

Why didn't he do anything to help Drew?

The question burns in his mind, but he knows it had something to do with Laurence. He couldn't do anything, he didn't want to because Laurence didn't want him to.

Most of all, Kier hates listening to the silence in the apartment, an absence of the sound Drew used to make. He's wondering when this nightmare will fucking end.


	13. Role Reversal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again ! so basically in 2 weeks it's 25 may, which marks the one year anniversary of this fic. needless to say i'm happy i've kept writing it, it's coming along really great and i'm glad i have support from people on here and on twitter! thank you again <3
> 
> -xoxoJ

SATURDAY 

 

Laurence shows up at Kier's apartment the next day, like Kier expected he probably fucking would. He opens the door, not unlocking the latch, and peers out at him.

"Hi. What do you want?"

"I brought tea," Laurence holds up a greenish-gold metal tin. "It's really good, was wondering if you wanted a spot. We could talk."

"Laurence, we don't have anything to really talk about."

"Nothing at all, really?"

"No," Kier says. "Our relationship is kinda questionable nowadays, eh? Not really friends, not exactly lovers."

"True," Laurence fixes his shirt. "At least you're blunt about it. You're one to play with feelings, though." His tone turns more annoyed. "You kissed me at the police station and then went home without me."

Kier doesn't look away from his face. "You ignored me for days and then lied to me."

Laurence laughs and his eyes fall to the floor. "This isn't a competition, mate. Just tell me why you did that."

"I guess I was upset about Drew, is all. Come off it, why don't you?"

"Yeah?" Laurence says, almost challengingly. "When are you gonna come off from me ignoring you for a few days?"

"Soon as you apologize. Admitting it is step one."

Laurence blows air through his lips and looks at him, glares almost. "I, Laurence Beveridge, am truly sorry," he says. "And I beg your forgiveness."

"Go ahead then, beg me."

"I wasn't serious," Laurence's tone shifts to amused. "I'm not gonna beg."

Kier rolls his eyes. "Whatever, come in."

Laurence follows Kier in and respectfully shuts the door behind him, looking around. "Wow. Nice place, I like it."

"Thank you."

Laurence continues to follow Kier into the kitchen and leans against the counter, looking at him as Kier puts a red-and-white striped kettle on for tea, his back to him. "So, how's life?"

"Pretty much shit, no doubt. What about you, how's that new job you mentioned?"

Laurence taps his nails on the counter. His polish is chipping, goddamn it. "It's alright, yanno, it's work."

Kier chuckles, and it's sincere. The irony of it all. "I hear that."

Laurence bites his thumbnail as Kier sets the kettle down on the stove and turns to him, crossing his arms. "I'm curious. Why didn’t you tell me you quit your other job?"

"At Curtis's?"

"Yeah."

"Irrelevant, I guess."

"Maybe, but it is relevant when your old boss is literally scared shitless of you," Kier deadpans. 

"Pardon moi?"

"You forgot I'm friends with Curtis," Kier reminds. "So I've seen him lately."

"Okay." Laurence says with a wave of his hand, like this really isn't making sense to him.

"What did you do to him that makes him so anxious nowadays, eh?"

"Ohh," Laurence smirks. "Sly fucker. You're automatically assuming it's my fault?"

"Well, I just think it's odd that he started acting like that right after you quit, so excuse me for assuming," Kier says and gets two blue mugs down from the cabinet. These mugs were Drew's favorite. The thought tugs on his fucking heart like a rope. 

"I really don't know."

"Were you guys not on good terms or something? Did he beg you to stay? Is he hesitant to replace you?"

Laurence shrugs. "Maybe. The man's on drugs."

"Right." Kier says. Laurence not giving him a solid answer is making him think that he himself knows it already. Kier has this strong feeling why, just like he has a feeling about Laurence that makes him sick. Might not be true, but at least it was an idea.

But he doesn't say anything, doesn't want to say anything. He's a coward - or maybe he just doesn't want Laurence to leave again, so why anger him? He doesn't want any of this.

"Look, Lau," Kier continues. "Fuck that, forget it. That's not what this is even about."

"Aye?"

"I gave you all of me, even if it was for a few days, a week. I told you my fantasies and fetishes. I don't do that with everyone - and what do you do? You act like it was nothing, that we didn't have anything."

Laurence just looks at him.

"There was something between us. Something," Kier laughs. "Cliché, like fireworks or a spark. You're telling me you didn't feel it?"

"How long have you been bottling this up?" Laurence asks, looking at his nails.

Kier laughs, a short, pissed-off laugh. "Fuck you, Laurence. A week, okay. I'm just finally saying it to your face."

"Indeed."

"You really know how to piss me off."

"You really know how to run your mouth."

Kier laughs again. "Oh, you're funny. That was a genuine laugh just then, you heard it. I really don't know what to do with you, Lau."

Laurence eyes him. His eyes are so fucking dark, outlined in liner, making the brown iris look black. A playful smile graces his lips. "Hit me, then."

"Excuse me?"

"Prove to me you're angry with me, hit me."

"Prove I'm mad through violence?"

"Yes."

"I'm gonna say no."

Laurence chuckles, pressing two fingers to his right temple and resting his cheek on his palm. "Do you see the irony there? You're a masochist, but a pacifist?"

Kier scoffs. "You can enjoy pain and not enjoy inflicting it on others."

"Well said. But do you really have to be a sadist to fight someone?"

"Is there a difference between defending yourself and sadism?"

Laurence moves away from the counter, closer to Kier. "Explain."

Kier bites his lip. "The way I see it, when you're defending yourself against someone who wants to potentially hurt you, you want them to be in pain. You savor it and you like it, because if you wound them enough you've won and they won't harm you, which is good for you."

"So in return, you have hurt them so you don't get harmed yourself."

Kier eyes him. "Exactly. I fight when I have a reason."

Laurence smirks, his lips curling up. "Alright, then, Kier. Your view is invigorating. And this is me giving you a reason. Hit me."

"Did you really just convince me with a violence-centric world view?"

"I think I did. Hit me."

That's when Kier just does it and doesn’t think twice - he hits Laurence right in the fucking nose. He surprises himself in seeing that he is good shot - he really hasn't fought since 6th grade at least. Laurence falls back a little, a hand over his nose and mouth, before he looks down, in awe, at the blood pouring down his face.

He chuckles quietly, licking his upper lip. And sure enough, he says, "Good aim."

"Thanks."

"Do it again."

Kier punches him again, in the jaw this time, and the sound Laurence makes is almost pleasurable. He knows Laurence is enjoying this, as all sadists have a masochistic side somewhere. The thought sends a thrill through his body.

But it's so fucking odd, him being the one hurting Laurence instead of Laurence hurting him. But something inside Kier likes it.

Kier hits him a third time and Laurence still isn't hitting back, he just lets Kier's fist hit his face, sometimes biting his lip or arching his neck back. They move out of the kitchen entirely, now in the living room.

"Is that all I deserve?" Laurence asks, his lip split and bleeding now. When Kier starts to suck on his bleeding knuckle, Laurence lets out this whiney exhale.

"Role reversal," he says, a crazed look in his eye. "Let's play. Tonight I'm the masochist and you're the sadist."

Kier stops, nods and goes to punch him again but hesitates. Laurence takes the opportunity to punch Kier in the jaw this time, and he misses. Kier doesn't wanna move away really - and he doesn’t until he sees another punch coming from Laurence. This time he lets it hit him, the pain hitting his system like a shot of adrenaline.

"You bluffed." Kier grunts and grips his face.

"I did," Laurence agrees with a toothy smile. "I gave you an opportunity but I knew you couldn't do it. Dirty little masochist can't help loving it." he delivers another punch, and Kier arches his neck back, a breathy "Oh yeah" falling from his lips.

Laurence gives him a few more punches and even a slap to the face, so hard Kier's skin flares up immediately. Kier is just blubbering and panting against the wall, muttering the dirtiest shit Laurence has ever heard, his head is fucking spinning.

"Fuck me." Kier chokes out, spitting a tooth out. "Fucking do it, you coward."

Laurence takes a grip on his hair. "Apologize."

"No." Kier gasps and cries out in pain.

"Apologize or I won't fuck you."

"F-fine. I'm sorry, so sorry."

"Good boy," Laurence whispers next and takes Kier in his arms, kissing his neck, his blood-splattered face, his bleeding lips.

"That was fucking amazing. Really liberating. But you need to fuck me right now."

Laurence smirks dirtily. "Missed my cock, have you?"

"You could say that."

"I bet it tortured you, eh?" Laurence is saying, whispering hotly in his ear. "Did you touch yourself when you thought of me? Did you get mad because I wasn't replying to you, take your anger out on yourself?"

"Yes." Kier gasps. "God, you know me."

"And you watched porn? Dirty, dirty. I bet you said my name, too. Not once but maybe twice. I wonder if Drew heard?"

"Please," Kier begs, melting under his touch. "You know how you m-make me feel."

"Oh, do I?" Laurence looks at him. "Show me how I make you feel."

 

Kier takes Laurence to his room, and Laurence is so impressed by how everything is so neat, going on about it. He's killing time, stalling, just to fuck with Kier, when all Kier really wants to do is rip his clothes off.

"Fuckin' shut up," Kier finally says and Laurence does. Kier takes the opportunity to kiss him, hard, his hands gracing Laurence's chest and teasing the buttons on his shirt. He gets them all unbuttoned as Laurence helps Kier slip out of his blue blood-stained pajama shirt.

"Cute," Laurence comments at Kier's pajama bottoms, which have rocket ships on them, to which Kier tells him to shut up again with a smirk. They keep making out until Laurence pushes Kier onto the bed, doing away with the rest of his clothes.

"Touch yourself for me." Laurence commands. He's mostly fully clothed, his unbuttoned shirt still on his shoulders. The thought sends a chill through Kier and he shudders. Laurence removes his belt and folds it a few times, holding it in his hands and looking down at him.

"Okay?"

Kier nods. "Fuck, okay." He starts stroking his cock, rubbing the head and down to the shaft, and he's trying not to moan - Laurence didn’t say he could.

"Good boy," Laurence says again, running the belt over Kier's trembling thighs. The foreplay is killing him but he loves it. He's rock hard already, thought, and just wants Laurence's cock in him.

So he says it. "I want your cock in me, sir."

Laurence slaps his thigh with the belt, not too hard, but pretty hard. Kier exclaims in pain as his thigh reddens right away, the skin tender already, and he feels dizzy with the second adrenaline rush that day. A rush of blood goes to his head as well.

"Fuck, sir."

"You like that? I shouldn’t even hit you," Laurence says, growls almost. "Because you like it, it's not even a punishment."

"N-no, it's not, sir," Kier says shakily. "But you're punishing me enough by making me wait."

This seems to really please Laurence. "Excellent. I think it's been long enough, pet."

 

Laurence seems very aggressive today, from the second he starts fucking him, Kier can tell. Laurence is a born top, born dominant and Kier knows he's always been, so naturally, Kier is below him again, gripping at the skin on Laurence's back and scraping his nails up it every time Laurence's teeth brush Kier's neck, and he bites down, hard enough to draw blood, hard enough to break blood vessels within 12 inches of his skin in every direction.

It's so much, he doesn't have a distinguishable thought forming, all he can think is more, more. 

When Laurence drives in hard it's almost too much for him, Kier draws blood on Laurence's back from scratching it, and draws out a long, slutty moan. He really knows how to make Kier moan like a fucking whore.

Laurence must love it, how he makes Kier sound. The fact that he's making him make those noises, marking him up with bites and hickeys, and holding him, so tight. He feels complete, he feels like he belongs to Laurence again.

And every moan that escapes his lips, Kier feels closer to him.

"Let me cum," Kier gasps.

"Do you wanna be choked, baby?" Laurence asks breathlessly, paralleling last time and fuck, Kier gets another rush, and he groans.

"Not this time," he pants. "I wanna try something else."

When Laurence is least expecting it, Kier maneuvers his body so he can flip them both over so he's on top, and Laurence looks up at him in surprise.

Kier waits for it, moving on his cock ever so slightly and panting, wondering how Laurence will like it. In response, Laurence chokes out, "Fuck, baby. Always unpredictable."

Which Kier sees as a green light, letting out a moan and placing his hands on Laurence's chest, using it as leverage to ride his cock. It's so good he can't stand it, moaning every time he comes down, watches Laurence's eyes half-lid in pleasure as he looks up at him in awe.

"More," Kier chokes out and Laurence thrusts him to meet him, causing Kier's body to move and shake, his back arching. He grips his own hair, biting his lip and can't catch his breath.

"I'm gonna cum," Kier says shakily. "Please let me, sir!"

Laurence keeps him moving for a few more thrusts and then says, voice ridden with a moan - "Go ahead, baby."

Kier grips his cock and strokes once, twice before moaning and cumming over his hand and watching, lips parted and eyes half-lidded, as it spurts down his cock and onto Laurence's chest and stomach. 

"Laurence," he gasps, saying his partner's name over and over.

That's about it for Laurence - he cums inside Kier a few seconds after, whimpering a little and gripping Kier's hips. Kier pants, staying on his cock, his eyelashes fluttering.

"Fuck."

Laurence pulls out and they both fall back on their backs, staring up at the ceiling. Kier's chest heaves as he puts a hand on it.

"I think I love you."

Laurence, still riding the waves of post-orgasm, turns his head slowly to look at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You do know I'm gonna have to punish you for that, right?"

"For loving you?"

"No, for flipping us over so you could ride me."

"You loved it."

Laurence smirks. "Ah, so?"

"So get over it."

 

Drew gets a phone call basically everyday, and though he's passed on it last time having no one to call, he knows he has to make something right this time. He calls someone he least expects himself to want to call. 

Not Kier, he really didn’t wanna hear his voice right now. Not Shane or Jaime either, and not Mitch.

No, that day, Drew decided to phone his good ol' ex-boss, Will.

"Greenlight Agencies, this is Will speaking, how can I help you today?" the man's voice is forcibly upbeat, still having a dull undertone.

"Hi, thank God you answered."

"May I ask who's calling?"

"Drew Woolnough. I used to work for you."

Will pauses. "What the fuck do you want? I'm very busy, Woolnough."

"I have a favor to ask."

"Either spit it out or choke on it."

Drew hesitates, gripping the receiver. He really doesn't know why he's doing this. So what Kier betrayed him, right? "I want you to give Kier his job back, sir."

"Give Kier his job back, why?"

"Because he didn't do anything wrong, that whole issue we caused was all my fault. And I'm sorry it almost got you in trouble, too."

Will pauses and dances around an answer. "Woolnough, where are you? I hear static."

Drew laughs a bit and hesitates. "I'm in jail. I'm using the wall phone."

"Why the fuck are you in jail?" he can almost hear Will suddenly sit abruptly up in his chair.

"Long story, I don't have time. You know Kier, sir, he's a good worker and you need him. Please rehire him, he didn’t deserve to be fired, only I did."

"If it was up to me, I'd say yes. But it's not, it's up to Travis. Would you like me to connect you to him so you can beg him instead?"

Drew's spirit fades completely. "No, that's okay. At least I tried."

Will audibly sighs through the phone. "Can I ask what you did?"

"Nothing," Drew clenches his teeth slightly. "I'm innocent."

"Mmm. God, that sucks." Will sighs into the phone. "Look, if you want, I will talk to Travis. Sorry, but I gotta go, good luck."

And with that, Will hangs up, leaving Drew staring at the grimy phone and sighing.

The fact that Drew was trying to protect and help Kier is beyond him, since that bastard fucked him over. Maybe he is a fucking angel after all.

 

Kier and Laurence are on their third attempt at making eggless chocolate chip cookies by the time 4 o'clock rolls around. The house smells of cinnamon and is warm and toasty, and the way Laurence is smiling and kissing the back of Kier's neck while he whips a bowl of homemade frosting is making him wish things could be this way forever.

The loneliness, sadness and hopelessness - it was still there, no doubt, but Laurence made it less so.

He's hugging Kier from behind now, resting his chin on his shoulder, and they're giggling, before Laurence puts a speck of frosting on Kier's nose and laughs. 

This couldn't be the same man Drew had thought him to be. It couldn't be.

And somewhere in Kier's mind, he know he's sold to Laurence once again.


	14. Sunday Bloody Sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy 25 may! this fic has now been on this site for one year, so I thought it'd best to update on its birthday! thank you all for reading <3
> 
> xoxoJ

Drew doesn’t know how long he's been shivering from the cold. The nights, so far, drag on and the days don't seem real, even though he watches the sun rise and set everyday, sometimes it's the only thing to do here.

It sounds cliché, but maybe Drew is just barely living, just surviving, waiting for something to happen.

Mostly, he knows he's waiting for his trial, which is fuck knows when. He's waiting for maintenance to fix the heat even a little, so they could at least get the temperature up to 65 in here. The uniform he's to wear isn't exactly warm.

The cell he's kept in isn't too small, it's medium-sized and brightly lit, complete with two bunks, a window in the middle, and a mirror next to one of the bunks. The bathroom is down the corridor, and he's allowed out of the cell for most of the day up until lights out, which is of course around 8. He'd rather stay in the cell anyway. The common room isn't really inviting, and people are mean. He just keeps to himself.

Drew has three very different cellmates. One's a heavily tattooed man with a buzzcut, another is a smaller, beefy man and the third is a tall, sort of muscular man with a wild mane of dark hair and brooding eyes. Drew only knows the tattooed man's name - it's Emile - and that's only because he knows that him and the beefy man hate each other. The others are nameless.

Drew doesn’t fuck with any of them; all three look like they could kill him if he so much as looks at them wrong. But on Drew's third day in jail, after he'd made the phone call to Will, the short man says out loud, "Anybody got any smokes?"

Emile looks up, calls the guy a whore in Spanish, going back to his picked-over magazine that he's allowed.

"Sorry, I speak English, this is America."

To the racist idiot's surprise, the tattooed man says, in perfect English, "I'm sorry, but does it look like any of us have smokes, guy? You do know where we are, right?"

The short man huffs and gives up. He moves and is suddenly next to Drew, much to his dismay.

"How long ya in here for?" he asks Drew, who starts but doesn't look up. "Hey. You're a pretty boy, aren't ya?"

"I'm here until my trial," Drew replies, no eye contact.

"Is that so? Well, what did ya do? You look too innocent to do any really bad shit."

When Drew doesn't reply, the man prompts, "Hey, I asked you a question, nancy boy. Fucking answer me."

"I don't have to talk to you."

"Yeah? Good, don't. You seem like a fag anyway, I'd rather not catch your fagness."

"Leave him alone, cunt," the tall guy speaks up and Drew slowly turns his head along with the short guy.

"Hey, shut up and keep out of this, Jack Skellington."

The guy comes closer. He's at least a foot taller than the other man, towering over him. "Is that the best you can fucking do?"

"Lay off. I'm just playing."

"I'm not. You're to leave him alone."

"Fuck off or I'll do you right here, right now."

"Yeah, what are you gonna do, huh, Mr. Edgy? Kick my knees and wait for me to bleed and fall down?"

The small guy looks at him, all tough-like, then scoffs and treads away, muttering something about pansies. Emile is muffling laughter, giving the guy a thumbs up.

Drew looks at the tall man, saying "Thank you" with his eyes. The asshole fucks off for the rest of the day and leaves Drew alone, to his relief.

 

It's not until after lights out and their two cellmates are dead asleep when Drew speaks to him. They both have lower bunks, so they sit against their beds and meet on the floor, knees slightly touching.

"Thanks for earlier, by the way," Drew says quietly.

"No problem. Skeeves is a fucking nut, he's does that to new inmates. And well, everyone else."

"He's a homophobic cunt?"

"And a racist, don't forget that."

"Is his name really Skeeves?"

"I don't know or care," the guy says. "But yanno, don't let him affect you. I'm Curtis, by the way."

Shit, the name isn't registering in his brain but Drew knows, he knows that name. Has Kier ever mentioned a guy named Curtis before? "I'm Drew."

Curtis looks at him and bites his bottom lip, as if he's thinking the same thing. "Shit. It can't be you. You're not-"

"Kier Kemp's best friend? Well, believe it, it's me."

"It is you?" Curtis has this weird grin on this face.

"Yeah, man. Why'd they put us together? Our last names aren't that close."

Curtis chuckles. "Well, I guess it's just fate. Shit, man. Kier used to talk about you all the time."

"Bitch about me, you mean," Drew says with a small smirk.

"Not really, though, he was fond of you and shit," Curtis says sincerely. "Fuck. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I should ask you the same thing, mate." Drew looks at him. "I'll let you spill first."

"I got busted, what else?" Curtis says, darkly comic.

"Aye, busted for what?"

"Drugs," Curtis exhales, looking almost ashamed at the very mention of the word. "Literally last fucking week."

"No shit?"

"Dead serious. I got caught during a deal," Curtis almost laughs. "I had a feeling the cops were keeping an eye on me and I stupidly did it anyway. No idea when my trial is, but I dunno. I think I'm gonna go to prison."

"Christ, that sucks."

Curtis laughs, a genuine laugh. "Oh, boo-hoo, it's my own fuckin' fault. Nobody made me sell drugs. My other business might crumble without me, though."

Drew picks at his sleeve. "Oh, yeah. You work at that antique store, right?"

"Proud and loving owner and manager, actually," Curtis doesn't hide the pride in his voice, but Drew can hear it vanishing when he says, face fallen, "Or yanno, I was, at least. I think Ash might take my place until I get out."

Drew rubs his head. "Eh, bullshit. Can't be totally your fault."

"I'm blaming someone in particular, actually. I can't get the idea out of my head that it's somehow his fault."

"Aye?"

"My old employee, Laurence. Long story short, he knew basically everything about what I do, down to the last detail of it. He said he wouldn't rat me out about the drugs if I kept a little promise of his, but maybe he did anyway."

"Christ," Drew chuckles. This is icing on the cake. "All he does is fuck up lives."

Curtis looks at him. "Yeah? What'd he do to you?"

Drew rubs his lips and laughs. "It honestly makes your situation seem tamer, Curtis, but I'm ninety percent sure he fuckin' framed me for murder."

"What the fuck?" Curtis says, voice raising almost above a whisper. "Murder of who?"

"Luke Illingworth. I heard he was your employee."

Curtis' face falls again, ever so slightly at the thought, then is replaced with look of confusion. "Jesus Christ. Why would he do that?"

"The cops got too close to him, so he turned it on me, the bloody psychopath." When Curtis doesn't reply, Drew looks at him and says, "You know, right?

"Yeah, don't worry, I fucking know. I got him to admit it to my face that he's the killer. That's why he fucking blackmailed me, because I knew," Curtis is laughing now, sounding half relieved and half pissed off. "I wasn't sure you knew."

"Oh, I know. I figured it out and paid for it."

"The cops fucking bought it?"

"Like idiots they fall."

Curtis rubs his face, looking like this is way too much for him to take in. "Christ Almighty. I'm so fucking sorry, man."

"Whatever. I really don't know what I expected from such a lunatic," Drew says. "But, man, oh my god. Kier didn't do shit for me."

"He didn’t?" Curtis looks like he almost can't believe it.

"Nope. He's just as bad as Beveridge."

Curtis looks down. "Fuckin' ow. I have to say, I know Kier and that doesn't sound like something he'd do."

"Doesn't even cover it," Drew says and bites his thumbnail. "But I think…I think that prick manipulated him."

"Laurence, eh? He really sucks."

"Yeah, and part of me knows it wasn't totally Kier's fault," Drew says honestly. "I mean, you can't help being manipulated. I even vouched for him and told my boss it wasn't his fault I violated a company policy. I told him to give Kier his job back."

"You did? Even after all that shit went down?"

"Guess that makes me a good person or something."

Curtis is looking at him with this weird smile. "Heart of gold, Drew Woolnough. That's what you got. You're an angel."

"Me, maybe," Drew chuckles. "Laurence, no."

"Someone oughta take an axe to his head."

"Believe me, Curtis. The thought is invigorating."

Curtis grins. "My guy. I think fate honestly brought us together."

Drew looks at him and tilts his head a bit.

"Yeah." Curtis is looking at him with this weird, brooding stare. 

"One day, we're gonna kill Laurence Beveridge."

 

SUNDAY

Kier wakes up to his phone ringing shrilly, the sun pouring into his bedroom. Beside him is Laurence, wearing one of Kier's old T-shirts, still asleep on his back. When he picks up his phone groggily, he sees the time is after eleven, and he has two missed calls.

"Hello?"

"About time you answered, Kemp. How hard is it to get a hold of someone these days?"

"Will?" Kier says sleepily, stupidly.

"No, it's fucking Jack Frost. Yes, it's me. I need to speak with you."

"It's Sunday."

"Yes," Will says matter-of-factly. "This can't really wait."

Confused, Kier sits up and lets his legs dangle off the side of the bed. "I'm a little tied up at the moment, what is it?"

Will pauses, laughs right into the receiver and then his tone is serious. "I, um, heard your friend Woolnough's in jail waiting for his trial."

"Uh-huh. It's been a few days."

"Are you aware he called me?"

"Well, no, sir. I haven't seen him since before he was arrested."

"It's not really my business to ask what he did, is it?"

"No," Kier drops bluntly.

Will seems to accept this. "He told me he was innocent, that's all."

"Well, nobody really knows nowadays."

"Right. Anyway, he asked me if I could possibly get you your job back, since what happened wasn't really your fault, that's what he said."

"He obviously feels guilty, but he's right." Kier rubs off a small amount of sweat forming on his upper lip. "I didn't have any part in what he did."

"Alright," Will says, still sounding unsure. "Have you, um, visited him?"

Kier shrugs and then remembers Will can't see him. "No, sir. It'll upset me, I'm thinking."

Next to him, Laurence moves his arm and his hand grips at the sheets, searching for Kier. Kier moves closer and grabs his hand in response.

"I'm real sorry he's there, Kemp. But I talked to Travis and he's surprisingly understanding. What happened was….a misunderstanding, I suppose." 

Faintly, he hears Will flick a lighter on to light most probably his 5th cigarette that day. "You can come back if you still want a job here," he continues. "We haven't replaced you, and we need someone in the office tomorrow morning, so…"

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly."

Kier doesn’t know what to say. "I-I…thank you…"

"Just say yes if you still want it, Kier."

"Yes, sir."

"Goody. Come in tomorrow, bright and early."

After Kier hangs up, he turns to see Laurence looking at him. "Who was that?"

"It was my old boss," Kier says, bewildered. His eyes meet Laurence's. "He just offered me my job back. Drew talked to him and somehow got me my job back."

A small, sleepy smile appears on Laurence's lips. "Hey, that's good, love."

Kier lays back and turns his head to look at him. "Thanks for staying the night."

"Well, I like staying the night," Laurence says with a smile. 

Kier smiles back, and then hesitates before meeting his eyes again and saying, "Lau, I think I should go visit Drew in jail."

"Probably a good idea, love. He's not coming back anytime soon."

The thought stings. Whatever Drew did, lie or not, innocent or guilty, he was still Kier's best friend, somewhere and somehow. "You sound awfully happy at the thought."

Laurence shrugs. "And you sound guilty as fuck."

"I am, yes."

"Still don't know what to think, eh?"

Kier looks at him. "Not particularly."

"Eh, fuck it anyway. Wanna make breakfast?"

 

MONDAY

It's strange going back to his job after being let go, but Kier knows Drew would've wanted it this way, regardless of anything. It's almost April now, which means Easter is close, which means the annual Easter office party is also close. How fucking weird, Kier has always thought around this time of year, he's been working here for over three years so he's been to three office Easter parties. He knows most offices have Christmas and possibly New Years parties, but Easter?

He's only been gone since last Wednesday, but Greenlight is oddly unfamiliar and harbors a different aura, a feeling he can't pinpoint. The first thing Kier then notices is Drew's empty desk, and that's when he recognizes the feeling. 

Nostalgia. Guilt. Maybe even grief. 

Drew wasn't here; it wasn't the same and it wouldn’t be until he returned, if he ever was going to.

What is there, however, is Drew's replacement. A medium-sized man in a leather jacket with black hair cut short to his head, hazel eyes and a weird upper-lip sneer. Aside from that, he looks pretty much normal, though he doesn't make eye contact with Kier when he comes in. He's sitting at Drew's old desk, arranging things on a bulletin board above the desk, a Dunkin Donuts Styrofoam cup next to his elbow. 

Kier watches him for a few minutes from his desk, and the guy doesn't look up once and meet his eyes.

"That's Gerard." Shane says suddenly, appearing by his side and looking where Kier's looking. "Drew's replacement."

"I figured."

"Weird fella," Shane scratches the back of his neck. "He drinks his coffee weak and black, like so weak it looks like tea."

"That is fucking weird."

Shane snorts and adjusts his tie, looking at him with a warm smile. "It's good to have you back, Kier."

Kier smiles. "Good to be back, Shane."

"How's Drew, do you know? He's been the topic of conversation around here for a week or so."

"I don't know how he is, but I'm sure he's fine," Kier doesn't look at him. God, he resembles Drew in more ways than just looks, it was killing him. "What are people saying?"

Shane shrugs. "They're just curious, I guess."

Kier rolls his eyes and exhales. "I fuckin' hate everyone here."

"Don't worry, I feel that," Shane agrees before going back to his desk. Kier presses his fingers to his temples, trying to shake the guilty feeling he's harboring.

 

Will comes to his desk around half past nine, delivering a list of tasks, along with a "Pick up the coffee order too". Kier just rolls his eyes. That used to actually be Shane's job, and then it was Drew's job. Even so.

He texts Laurence while he takes the 10 minute walk to Starbucks, and Laurence replies with a few emojis. Kier then drops a question he meant to ask.

/My office always has this annual Easter party around this time. We're allowed to bring guests, wanna go?/

He waits in line, gives the coffee order and then feels his phone vibrate with Laurence's reply.

/Sounds splendid./

Kier smiles a little like a goon, and almost forgets to leave the coffee shop with his order. That sinking feeling dissipates once again.


	15. Matches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, if you're in the FVK fandom you obviously found out they broke up last week. I'm as sad as you are and I guess that's why I'm updating. I will continue this fic, I don't know how often I'll update due to the breakup and lack of motivation but also because of my college classes starting at the end of August. However, A Tax on Blood will continue, I'm hoping. Thanks so much for reading and ily all <3

TUESDAY AFTERNOON

 

"Person you'd fight without hesitation?"

Drew looks up at Curtis and smirks a little. "Besides that fucking bastard Beveridge?"

"Again, yes."

"Jack Nicholson."

"That's savage, man."

"Yeah, like One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest Nicholson."

"Fuckin' savage."

"Who'd you fight?" Drew asks next.

"Jared Leto." Curtis replies with a smirk. "I really hate that son of a bitch."

They're in the common room right now, sitting at a table with playing cards in front of them, though they're not exactly playing. It's pretty much like this everyday, and Drew's not sure if he likes it or just likes the routine, the guarantee of how tomorrow is going to be. 

It's probably both.

Sometimes, he thinks about Kier. And mostly, when he sometimes thinks about Kier, he thinks about Kier's betrayal, and how Laurence had every-goddamn-thing to do with it. It got old after awhile, his obsessing as if he could change anything.

He starts to force himself to think about other things, fantasies even. He fantasizes Kier showing up in his room one night, and he's the only one there, and Kier ties his hands to the bars in the cell and sucks him off. That was good.

There were dirtier fantasies, too. One of them being the two of them in the middle of really hot steamy sex, and Drew slitting his throat for doing this to him. That was the only violent one, though. Most fantasies included Kier telling Drew he loved him and all that noise. 

Oh, God. It kills him. It's really killing him.

Drew can’t even really jerk off anymore, so he spends his time confiding in Curtis, and sometimes, even telling Curtis about the fantasies and how they won’t go away now. Curtis finds them interesting and he doesn’t laugh at him, which feels good.

A lot of things still feel good here. The hot water from the limited but still refreshing shower he gets everyday. The hardness of his new, stark white toothbrush on his gums. The way the sun beats down on his shivering skin through the window when it gets really cold in the cell. The way the cafeteria milk tastes, creamy and cold.

This was Drew's life now, and there wasn't any going back.

 

SATURDAY (4 days later)

 

Kier couldn't explain it in any other way - he was happy as fuck with Laurence. Life seemed just better when he was with him. Sure, it was cliché and storybook romance shit, but it just worked with him, everything worked with Laurence.

The day of the Easter office party is sunny, warm and hazy. Four days had passed, days which consisted of Kier going to work and coming home to an empty house, which was when he'd call Laurence to join him. Sometimes, he'd find Laurence already there, which he liked better. Laurence would be cooking and watching Food Network. They did dinner mostly, watched films, the lot. Kier discovered Laurence loves making breakfast for dinner, and Laurence discovered Kier hated any orange vegetable, especially carrots.

And on one night, Laurence even expressed to Kier that he was becoming better at giving head, which earned him a punch in the arm.

Kier is standing in his room in front of the mirror that day, fixing a tie. It's obviously a special party, Will specifically said it was a "shirt-and-tie" ordeal. He'd been working at Greenlight for years now and he still didn't understand the people he worked with, especially not Will.

The only tie Kier has is the skinny black one, small, but it'd have to do.

Laurence shows up right before they're to leave. He's wearing a tie, too, a red one paired with a nice white collared shirt. He looks perfect. Kier kisses him once and they head out around three.

When they arrive, the party has already started. The room is sort of decorated, bustling full of people talking and dancing, including ones from upstairs he never really sees. He sees his coworkers dressed up nicely, which though odd, is refreshing. He grabs drinks for him and Laurence, who's looking fairly relaxed.

Shane dances up to them in a party hat and a wine glass in his hand. "All right, Kier? This must be your boyfriend, hello."

Kier blushes as Laurence answers for him, something along the lines of, "Yes, hello, I'm Laurence, nice to meet you."

Shane shakes his hand. "I'm charmed. Tried the pinot yet, guys? It's great."

They exchange small talk for a bit, until Kier asks the question that popped into his head the moment they stepped inside. The aura of the room was off. "Where's Will?" 

"I dunno," Shane replies, looking around. "I know he's here, though."

Will is indeed there. Kier spots him in a corner kind of away from everyone, smoking and talking to one of his coworkers, Amy. Well, he's half-talking, half-watching Kier closely, like he's waiting for him to leave Laurence's side.

Which he would be doing…why?

Laurence does end up leaving for a bit, going off to the washroom. As if on queue, Will moves and goes up to Kier, who's on his third glass of wine by now.

"We need to talk, Kemp."

"Now?" Kier asks, moving with the music a little now, the liquid sloshing in his glass. "Sir, 'nother time, I'm having a drink."

"It's important."

"All right, then," Kier agrees and they go off to a quieter place in the room. "What is it, sir?"

Will's looking at him so fucking strangely, it has him on edge. His voice, however, is calm. "Look, I know your secret."

"Secret, eh?" Kier repeats. "Sir, look, I might be a little drunk but I-"

"Fucking hell," Will runs his a hand through his slicked-back hair. "Beveridge. That's your boyfriend's name, eh? Laurence Beveridge? That's him?"

"Yeah, that's him, why?" Kier practically slurs.

"I know who he is."

"Do ya now?"

"How can you be so stupid, Kier?"

Kier, sobering up, swallows a little. Will almost never used his first name. "Look, I really don't have any idea what you're talking about. Maybe you should clarify before insulting me."

Will talks low, so low Kier can barely hear. "Laurence is that serial killer who's been going around, isn't he?"

"No," Kier drops in surprise. "The killer was Drew, that's why he's in jail."

"I spoke with Drew again lately," Will said, meeting Kier's eyes. "He called me from the fucking county jail. Not once, but twice. And he told me everything the second time, about why he's really in jail. He confided in me."

"He lied to you, you mean. Drew's the killer." Kier says again. "Laurence helped me figure that out."

Will looks unmoved. "Trust me, I have no idea what goes on inside your head, but I believe Drew. And I think Laurence is a lying sack of shit. He wanted you to think Drew was the killer, he didn’t 'help you figure it out'."

"Hey, fuck off with that."

"I can't believe you believe some asshole over your best friend," Will continues. "That's what really blows my mind."

"God, just fuck off!" Kier exclaims, getting in Will's face, which attracts people's attention so he shuts up and backs off, sheepishly looking away.

Will shakes his head. "You worked with Drew for how long, Kier? I saw how you two interacted. There's no way you don't believe him somewhere in your head."

"Why can't people just fuck off my relationship? I really wanna know that." Kier says, clenching his teeth. "Yeah, I'm dating Laurence. I know he's the town freak, but why is everyone saying the worst about him?"

Will laughs. "Because it's true, maybe he isn't a fucking saint."

"Fuck you," Kier mumbles, his best and only comeback, and throws a punch weakly, aiming toward Will's nose. Will catches his hand with a firm grip, his eyes flaring up.

"I'm gonna write you up for that, Kemp."

"I'm not on the clock, sir."

"Yeah, but I'm still your fucking boss."

Kier swallows and doesn't really have an answer, mostly because a wave of nausea is hitting him. He tries to stop the puke from coming up, but it does come up, all over Will's shoes.

Will exclaims in disgust and puts his hands up. "Goddamn it, Kemp, you're gonna pay for that."

Kier groggily nods. Laurence is back by his side after that, helping him to the washroom. As they pass a small group of people, someone says to him, "I would've aimed for his face, I heard he has a puke fetish" with a chuckle. Kier recognizes the person as the new guy, Gerard, dressed in a blue tie and black shirt.

The thought makes Kier want to puke again.

 

"You sure you're okay?" Laurence asks for the fifth time, pressing another wet paper towel to Kier's burning forehead. Maybe he really is coming down with something. His insides are sloshing and his face is on fire, his eyelids feeling like they weigh a hundred pounds.

"Dunno," Kier croaks. "I think I had too much to drink."

"You only had three glasses," Laurence points out with a tilt of his head. "And it was wine. I know who I'm talking to, you're the guy I got drunk with."

Kier kind of laughs.

"Remember that though? Took us like four pints each."

"Course I remember," Kier inhales and feels a sharp pain pierce in his lung. "Shit, maybe I'm sick. Not feelin' too great."

Laurence studies him. "It looks like you had a panic attack."

"Been awhile since I had one of those. I just…got so angry." 

Laurence wasn't asking why. God, why wasn’t he asking? Didn’t he wanna know why Kier was so worked up?

Instead, Laurence exhales and adjusts his tie. "Lemme go get you some water." And with that, he leaves Kier in the washroom, holding his head.

 

Laurence knows Kier's looking way too ill at the moment to follow him out. So he keeps his promise- he does get Kier a cold cup of water, but doesn’t deliver it right away.

No, not yet. He looks around for Will.

Kier's fucking asshole boss. He'd seen him for about 2 seconds before dragging Kier away to get cleaned up, but that was enough to take a mental picture. He spots him in a far corner of the room, holding and looking at one of his puke-stained, expensive-looking shoes as if his life is ending, trying clean the stains.

"My apologies, but it seems we haven't been introduced," Laurence speaks up and Will turns his head to him. "I'm Laurence, Kier's boyfriend."

"Hi," Will says snidely. "I'm never getting the puke off these, I hope he knows."

"A shame. They looked very nice before they were bathed in vomit."

Will rolls his eyes and puts it down, looking at Laurence. "Why are you here?"

"As opposed to not being here?"

"Yeah," Will says quietly. "But yanno, now that you are here, I got a few things to say to your sorry ass."

"Go on then."

"I think we both know something. Something that's true, something you're keeping from Kier."

"Which is?"

"You know what it is."

"Oh, pish-posh," Laurence dismisses. "Kier had an opportunity to believe it was true about me."

"That's even worse!" Will nearly grips his face. "You bastard, you should be in jail, not that poor Woolnough bloke."

"Why don't you go to the cops then, Will ol' boy?"

"Because they think they've found the killer," Will says. "They believe it's Drew, so there's no use tellin' them it's you. Cops are idiots."

Damn, Laurence thinks. "Quick, aren’t you? Smart, too."

"Well, I didn’t become a CEO by sucking dick."

Laurence's lips quirk up in a smirk. "Indeed."

"I just think it's sad, is all," Will continues. "You're lying to your partner and an innocent man is in jail."

Laurence looks at him, his expression blank, and laughs. "Not your business, really, my life."

"It is when it involves my fucking employee," Will snaps and points a finger at him. "You better get your act together. And if I find out you hurt Kier or anyone else in his life or my company, you can consider yourself dead."

Will stalks off without a glance or flinch, and Laurence watches him. Oh, how this played out. Dear.

Laurence has just met his match in Will.

 

After the party falls apart and people start leaving, some sober and some not, Kier and Laurence go home too. It's around dinner time, but Kier isn't hungry, he's just nauseous. He lays down on the couch and Laurence sits with him, and they watch some old Western on TV, Kier half-paying attention.

Will's words were echoing in his head and something really didn't feel right. No, something wasn't right. Kier decides the best thing to do is ignore it, as usual.

Somewhere in the distance, a gunshot is heard, and Kier and Laurence are both unfazed.

 

SUNDAY

Sunday morning comes with thunderstorms. Laurence is awake at 8, making breakfast in the dimly lit kitchen. It looks like it's still nighttime when Kier falls out of bed and opens the blinds. The dark grey rumbling sky gives him a chilling feeling, an ominous kind of fear, but he tries to shake it off. It was just bad weather, and there were no such things as omens.

Coming into the kitchen, Kier sits at the counter and Laurence turns. "Morning."

"Morning."

"Some weather, eh?"

Kier nods and crosses his arms as Laurence sets a mug of coffee down in front of him. He's wearing Kier's Misfits shirt and his hair's messy. He looks cute - so why does it creep Kier out? Why do the bags under his eyes look taunting, the way he moves his hands teasing? Laurence wasn't creepy.

Was he?

"Feeling better?" he asks Kier.

"Oh, yeah. I guess it was the wine after all."

"You don't look that hungover."

"Well, I feel it."

Laurence smiles sympathetically. "Horror movie marathon? You can pick."

Kier nods and that odd feeling almost goes away. He smiles, and Laurence smiles back.

 

LATER ON SUNDAY

Kier thinks about how different he was feeling now, compared to Saturday morning before the party. Before Will came to him and said all that shit. Before Laurence seemed creepy now, like a bomb about to go off. The image of Laurence in his kitchen was never weird - but now it was, like an old family polaroid and in the background you see some ghostly figure that isn't supposed to be there.

Laurence was the ghostly figure. Mysterious, unknown, and taunting. The things everyone was saying about him was making him even more mysterious and unknown - Kier didn't know the real truth about him. He's starting to wonder if he ever had.

Dammit, it was almost like Kier was scared.

In a blatant attempt to get his mind off it, Kier drops by Curtis's shop around 3 pm. He goes alone, Laurence obviously doesn't wanna go back there, and something inside him is glad he's going by himself. 

He just wanted answers, maybe a good long talk, that was it. And Curtis was the only one who really understood - fuck, Kier hoped to God he was in today.

It was still storming a bit, the sky now a dull but light grey, and rain still falling. Kier puts his hood up.

Brian is the only employee who appears to be there at the front register when Kier walks in. He's wearing this light red lipstick and a too-small baby blue t-shirt that reads "Rock is Dead". His hair is a mess and he's chewing gum, looking bored as usual. A copy of the newest Kerrang! is in front of him.

"Hi," Kier speaks up. "Brian, right?"

Brian looks up and gestures to the nametag hanging at the end of the lanyard around his neck. 

"Right." Kier says sheepishly. "I'm Kier."

"Aren't you that guy dating Laurence Beveridge?" Brian asks nasally.

"Yes, indeed. News sure travels fast here."

"It's like the whole town knows," Brian snaps his gum. "More or less."

Uncomfortable, Kier comes closer to the register he's behind and sighs. "I see Curtis is out as usual, it's a shame."

Brian crosses his arms. "What do you mean?'

"He's usually not in when I really need to see him, it figures."

Brian stares at him and speaks slowly. "Well, he's definitely not in today, mate. Curtis is in jail."

Kier feels his eyes widen. "Fuckin' what?"

"Yeah, jail. He got busted for his fuckin' drive thru drug deals. He was arrested like last week."

Kier stares at the counter. "I don't….believe it."

Brian rubs his nose. "I mean, like, I've done worse but the innocent ones always get caught."

"Nobody told me."

"Yeah, well sorry we don't have an 'Update Kier' time of day. I doubt it was on the news, though. Yanno how this bullshit town is."

"Shit," Kier grips his hair with one hand. First Drew, now Curtis. What the fuck, he thinks as the empty feeling settles back into his chest. This was complete bullshit.

"When's he getting out?"

"Beats me," Brian lights a cigarette. "Last I heard, he's awaiting his trial. He called the store the other day, explained everything to me. He was really upset, boo-hooing and all that."

Thoughts race in Kier's head. "Did you know about it?"

"About his drug den?'

"Yeah."

"I did. Ash and I knew, Laurence knew too."

Kier feels his blood run cold. 

"In fact, that's what Curtis called me about, because he thought we should all know." Brian eyes him and beckons him closer. Kier moves a bit more toward him and leans.

"Yeah, we all knew. And we kept it secret, yanno, he didn't ever give us a reason to rat him out, he was a friend as well as our boss," Brian pauses and inhales, looks down at the counter. "Laurence….must've found a reason because Curtis said...he blackmailed him into keeping a secret or Laurence would go to the cops."

"What?" Kier says, staring at Brian, at his long eyelashes creating shadows over his cheeks, his red lips. "I know Lau, and he wouldn't do that."

"You fucking idiot," Brian deadpans, his eyes moving to Kier's. "It's true. You don't see it?"

Kier blinks at him. "Not really. Curtis said Lau was a slacker, but that's it, nothing bad."

"Curtis fucking called me from jail and told me that. Why would he lie? He's already locked up!"

Kier is shocked now, confused. "But Lau has no reason to blackmail him."

"Yeah, before you say that maybe you should do more research on this guy you're with, 'cuz he's no angel." Brian says and goes back to his magazine.

Kier leans on the counter and puts a hand to his forehead. "That's a little vague."

"C'est la vie."

"So Curtis really is gone." 

"Yeah."

Kier is now rubbing his head. "So is my friend, Drew. Everyone important in my life is disappearing somehow, so excuse me for being attached to Lau." he says weakly. "I know it makes me sound like a child. I'm basically a wreck lately."

Brian looks up at him. "You do look completely stressed out."

"I am."

"Wanna get high?"

Kier eyes him. "Aren't you working?"

"I get off in a half hour."

Kier nods without really thinking about it. Honestly, why not.

 

"Whattya got?"

Brian's got another cigarette between his lips. They're still in the shop and outside, the rain continues.

"Just weed. I'd offer you heroin, but its a huge fuckin' commitment and shit. Don't want that if you have a white collar job."

"No thanks, I'm good with weed."

Brian doesn't saying anything, just smokes.

"You a drug dealer too?"

Brian laughs this high, taunting giggle. "No. I buy from my ex, who buys from his friend, and so on. A drug dealer in this town? I know there's a million here but they're getting' busted daily. I mean, look at Curtis."

Kier nods. "I guess it'd be good to unwind again. I used to smoke with Curtis."

"We all did. He's a chill boss," Brian says. "Or yanno, was."

For a second, Kier sees a flicker of sadness in Brian's eyes, but it vanishes.

"Anyway, lets go, I'm itching." he says and Kier obliges.


	16. All the Rage Back Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as you can see it's been awhile since I've updated but I've really been putting it off due to no motivation really . This chapter is a bit of filler but does further the plot toward the end so my laziness pays off I guess. Happy belated Halloween (by one day) and as usual, thanks for reading!

Sunday night with work the next morning is surely not the best time to get high. But hey, Brian offered, Kier reminds himself as he's handed a rolled joint from the shorter, prettier man who’s dawning a lovely pink blush on his cheeks now, he’d already taken a drag or two from the joint.

It's been a little while since Kier’s gotten high. Having a job where a guy like Will was his boss required basically no fucking around, and he wasn’t one to smoke anyway. The last time had been when he was with Curtis, he thinks incredulously. 

The two of them are sitting in Brian's apartment, and from what Kier gathers, it's a lot smaller than his own. From his place on the couch, he sees a tiny kitchen, a closet behind the door and a single bedroom and bathroom. It is small, though very tidy.

"So, does everyone who works at this store smoke weed or what?" Kier asks as he takes a puff. Brian watches, his head resting on his hand.

"I do, Erik definitely does," Brian replies. "Yanno, Curtis did. Ash actually doesn't."

Kier exhales and rubs his left eye with two fingers. "Oh, shit, I forgot. She's like in love with my old stoner buddy, Chris. Goes up to see him a lot, yanno.”

“Oh, is it a long-distance relationship?”

“Sort of. He's in rehab."

"See, why doesn’t she tell me stuff like that?” Brian says nasally. “She works with me."

Kier grins childishly. "I dunno, she thinks you're weird."

"I'm serious," Brian holds his head. “I mean, I am weird.”

"We've been friends for years," Kier tells him. "I used to get high with Chris, she'd join us sometimes. She was his girlfriend and I guess they didn’t work out. She hasn’t touched anything since Chris went to rehab and she acts like his guardian angel or something and I’m sure she still loves him.”

"Love is sad, man." Brian puts an arm over his eyes, his legs splayed. He starts humming the tune to a Beatles song.

Kier looks down at his phone. "Shit. Maybe I should tell Laurence where I am."

"Oh, is he one of those types?"

"He just likes to know where I am."

 

Laurence did like to know where Kier was. That evening, though, he didn't know, and there wasn't a time very often when he didn't – except that day. Kier texted him constantly and updated him on his life all the time, sometimes even when Laurence didn’t even ask. It was cute to him, he supposes.

That afternoon he let Kier go off to Curtis's store, from which Curtis was absent from. Kier would go in and ask where he was, and one of the employees (most probably Brian because he still worked weekends) would tell him where Curtis was.

Laurence smirks. Yeah, Kier’s little friend was gone, most likely for a while, just like Drew.

He texted Kier a few times, innocently asking where he was and if he still wanted to go grab dinner, an innocent ply on what he was doing, because he had no clue.

He's half-watching TV on the couch, right now it's Food Network and Bobby Flay is helping a bunch of horrible cooks make brightly colored cupcakes. He gets a text back a few minutes later and it's Kier.

With a friend, smoking a joint. Be home soon

Laurence clenched a fist lightly. It was either Erik or Brian and honestly, he could kill either of them, no kidding. 

But whatever. It's not like it'll kill Kier to hang out with one of his rigid, snotty ex-coworkers. He only ever liked Ash anyway. And Brian could go choke on a dick.

 

Kier leaves Brian's apartment later, still mostly baked, walking slowly outside with his phone in his hand. The sharp, cold spring wind hits his face and he exhales, closing his eyes. It's then that he realizes he doesn't know where his car is. Brian's place was within walking distance to the shop, so all Kier had to do was go back to the shop, get in his car and go. 

Laurence was probably worrying at home. He hadn’t texted back but Kier had a feeling he’d seen his text.

He looks around, trying to remember which way they'd come, but the sun was starting to set now and the part of town he was in looks a lot different than earlier. And he doesn’t remember. He’s at a four-way intersection now after walking a few feet from Brian’s apartment, and there’s a stoplight. The shop could be in any direction and he didn’t know which one to take.

Shit, what time was it? Kier looks at his phone to see it's after 5 o'clock and fuck, now he feels bad. He needs to get home to Laurence.

He decides to wander straight down the side of the street Brian’s apartment was on, thinking that it possibly looked familiar. He walks another block, turns a corner and walks another block, and now he’s pretty sure he’s lost so he stops where he is and presses a hand to his forehead, which is clammy. Not only lost, but lost and still high. This was like spring break in college all over again.

He fumbles for his phone and dials Laurence, who answers on the second ring.

"Hi, where are you?"

"Hi. M'lost," Kier manages. "I don't remember where I parked my car."

He can almost hear Laurence exhale in annoyance. "What street are you on?"

Kier looks around for a street sign. "I'm on Burgundy drive."

"Oh, okay, so you're down near the shop." Laurence replies right away, surprisingly calm. “You’re about three blocks from it.”

“I know, I just don't know how to get back to it.”

"I gathered that. Who'd you smoke with?"

An irrelevant question, but Kier's too stoned to care. "Brian."

"Knew it. Don't move, okay?" Laurence says. "I'm coming to get you and we'll find your car. You go any further and you'll be downtown and even more lost, so literally do not move."

Kier grips a streetlight. "I'm not moving, Lau."

Laurence hangs up without saying goodbye and Kier makes a face, like he's tired but also like he's annoyed, and leans against the streetlight. He waits, it might be a little while, and Kier wonders why he thought this was a good idea in the first place.

 

By the time Laurence picks him up it's after 6 and Kier feels like his brain's gonna bulge out of his skull. He’s hungry and he’s tired and he feels like the biggest idiot to ever live. The ride back to the shop is quiet, and Laurence drops Kier off to get his car, saying he'll see him at home.

He doesn't seem that mad. But Kier thinks he should be, maybe. Was that the right thing to think? He didn't know.

When Kier walks into the apartment, Laurence is already there, standing at the counter staring down at a cookbook. It had been Drew's cookbook he used to keep under the sink - something called Fancy Meals in Minutes or something.

Kier sets his stuff down and rubs his head. "Planning something?"

Laurence looks up with a smile and shit, it's like the afternoon never happened, which makes Kier feels a little better. "Since we're trying so many recipes I thought we could try something more challenging, like filet mignon or some shit like that."

"My stomach might disagree. But I could go for some tacos right about now."

Laurence chuckles and shuts the book, grabbing his keys. "Tacos it is."

 

The blatant attempt to get his mind off how weird Laurence was making him feel had worked a little. Ever since the weed, Kier feels calmer, less on edge, and more importantly, he feels mushy and in love again when he looks at Laurence.

They stop by Taco Bell, Kier's guilty pleasure according to him. He eats five tacos - Laurence sticks with one or two. After they're done, Laurence takes them to the cemetery down the road to "hang out".

"Oh, dear me," Kier says with his mouth full. "How edgy are we."

Laurence smirks. "It's part of the date, jerk."

"Oh, we're on a date? How sweet." Kier says as Laurence gets out of the car and he follows. "Taco Bell and a cemetery really is the way to my heart."

"Might not be quite the thing," Laurence says and turns to him. "But I know a good bottle of Jack is."

Kier snorts as Laurence pulls said bottle out of the backseat. "I love you."

"I know," Laurence says with a smirk and Kier kisses him, hard, wrapping his arms around his neck and feeling Laurence grip his waist.

They kiss for what seems like hours until Laurence breaks it, laughs a little breathlessly and makes a big deal about opening the bottle so Kier can have a swig. 

"I saw your eyes gleam."

"That's because I was thinking about your cock."

"That too," Laurence accepts. They sit on the hood of his car, sharing the bottle back and forth until Kier's giggling like mad and resting his head on Laurence's shoulder.

"Hope I don't throw up."

"Better not," Laurence warns. "I saw what you did to Will's shoes at the party."

Kier smirks and pokes Laurence's nose. “You should get a nose ring.”

“I don’t think it would fit my nose.”

“Eh, bullshit. Nose rings fit everyone’s nose, that’s just a myth.”

“We’ll see,” Laurence smirks and Kier feels on top of the world.

 

When Drew comes back from lunch that day, Curtis is the only one in their cell, packing all his shit up in a pillowcase, his back to the door.

“Curt?” Drew says. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting us outta here,” Curtis says lowly. “You’re coming with me. C’mon, we’re leaving.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, now,” Curtis turns and Drew sees a crazy look in his eye. “Can you think of a better time to break out? Nobody’s here, the majority of the security guards are near the cafeteria. We can make a run for it.”

“That’s incredibly stupid.”

Curtis obliges, pausing. “Okay, then we’ll sneak out. We’ll devise a plan first.”

Drew shrugs, his head spinning. “Slightly better. But I gotta say, it’s too fucking risky for us to try, man.”

“Well, we won’t know that until we try.”

The man was fucking mental. Drew is rubbing his upper lip when he says, “Well, why the suddenness? You didn’t wanna leave as much last week.”

“Because, Drew,” Curtis lowers his voice, coming closer and meeting his eyes. He has to crane his neck down and it’s comical at how short Drew is   
compared to him.

“You don’t belong here, and I don’t belong here. The only reason we’re here right now is because of Laurence. It’s been driving me nuts ever since they arrested me and I was shoved into that police car, how this is all his fault. Given, some of it is mine. But you? You’re goddamn pristinely innocent, pure as driven snow, you didn’t do a goddamn thing. And he’s the one who should be in these orange scrubs, not you.”

Drew stares and parts his lips, running his tongue along his bottom lip. “I know, but,” he hesitates, his voice shaking. His eyes dart around before meeting his eyes again. “Curt, what can we do?”

“We can get the fuck outta here and get him arrested, put him here where he belongs,” Curtis’ deer-in-the-headlight eyes are wild. “I’m sick of living with it, Drew, and I’m done living with it. It keeps me up at night and I’m done. I want him to suffer for making everyone else suffer.”

Drew swallows and rubs sweat off his upper lip. “He’s…he’s ruined my life.”

“Not only has he done that,” Curtis says. “He killed Luke in cold blood. I had to get told by the fucking cops that one of my employees had been brutally murdered and cut into pieces, his body still hasn’t been found. Laurence got you put in here for shit he did. He got me put in here because I didn’t keep his dirty little secret. Oh, and to add, he’s also manipulating Kier, who is a good friend of both of us, and God knows what’s gonna become of him.”

A jolt of fear suddenly strikes through Drew’s body. “I’ve been trying not to think about that.”

Curtis sighs. “It’s happening, Drew. It's happening! And we have to do something – I’m not sitting here in this goddamn uniform doing nothing any longer.”

Drew hesitantly but firmly nods. “Let’s go catch a goddamn criminal.”


	17. Who's the Killer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys i'm not dead! college unfortunately has been consuming my life for the past few semesters and i haven't been motivated to continue this fic either. this chapter has been sitting in my laptop for awhile and i just need to post it. i'm probably going to start wrapping this story up as well.
> 
> also: for all the saw fans who are wondering when i'm going to continue any of my saw fics, fear not. they will be updated, hopefully soon.
> 
> cheers and all the best,   
> Dev

MONDAY

Early the next morning, Drew’s defense attorney is there waiting for him.

His name’s Corey, and he’s an old friend of his. His eyes are bright and his smile is wide. He’s sitting on the other side of the glass, the phone to his ear, as he waves at Drew.

“Drew. I’m happy to tell you that your trial is coming up and I’m representing ya.”

“Thank the fucking Lord,” Drew exhales, putting his head down on the table, and then raising it back up. “I hope you know you’re my ticket out of this shithole.”

“I’m flattered you have that much faith in me.”

“You know I do.”

“You look like shit.”

Drew laughs once. “I feel like it, too. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in forever.”

“Don’t worry,” Corey says, meeting his eyes. “I have a feeling you will soon.”

Drew pauses. “Corey….I need a favor.”

“Shoot.”

“If we’re gonna get me out of here, we have to lead the cops to the real killer because he needs to be caught.”

“Uh huh.”

“And I know who he is.”

Corey doesn’t answer.

“Wait, you believe me, right?” Drew asks, gripping the receiver. “I’m not the killer, Corey.”

“Course I believe you,” Corey replies sincerely, and Drew relaxes in relief. “Who’s the killer then?” 

“His name is Laurence Beveridge and he lives nearby in the city,” Drew tells him softly. “He killed Luke Illingworth and framed me for it, connecting   
it to other murders he’s done. To the cops, I’m a serial killer.”

“Yeah, I gathered that’s why you’re here.”

“But he did it,” Drew said sternly, eyeing Corey. “That son of a bitch. He planted evidence and shit. The cops ate it up.”

Corey shivers a little. “What a fucking dick. You’re sure it’s him?”

“More than sure, but I dunno,” Drew tells him. “I could be wrong. He was really good at making me feel like I was losing my fucking mind. He apparently does that with everyone. And he manipulates them, too. He did that to Kier…I’ll never forgive him for it."

Corey looks like he doesn’t exactly want to know. “Drew…are you at least….75% sure?”

“No offense, Corey, but this isn’t a fucking game.”

“None taken. Answer the goddamn question.” Corey didn’t fuck around. That’s what made him a good attorney.

Drew nods, hesitating. “Yeah, then. Kier thinks I’m fucking nuts for thinking it’s him because uh, Laurence is his boyfriend. There’s gotta be some bias there, right?”

“Or he just doesn’t wanna believe you. He’s not ready to believe it.” Corey muses.

“Either way, he thinks I’m crazy and doesn’t give a shit that I’m in jail.”

Corey rubs his upper lip. “Okay, so he lives around this area and he’s dating Kier. You know his address, anything else?”

“No, I don’t know a lot. He used to work at this antique shop but uh, not anymore. The old owner, Curtis, is actually in here with me, he was busted for drugs. He suspects Laurence was involved, too.”

“Huh, the story grows,” Corey says. “Small fucking world.”

“We both hate him.”

“I can see why.” Corey shrugs. “If we know where he lives, we might find some juicy shit he’s hiding. Maybe your friend Kier knows?”

Drew swallows, a stinging pain shooting through his body at the thought. “He does know. I don’t think he’d talk, though. And it doesn’t matter.”

“Hmm?”

“I suspect Laurence does his killing elsewhere. He’s not stupid, he’s smart. Too smart, yanno. He outsmarted everyone.”

Corey looks down. “Is there anything else I should know?”

Drew’s eyes meet Corey’s. “He, um…gets rid of anyone who gets too close to exposing him, that I know. It happened with me and with Curtis and   
definitely with Luke, poor guy. I honestly don’t know who’s next.”

“Okay,” Corey says and rubs his upper lip. “So that means, if I go and investigate shit….there’s a chance he could kill or hurt me.”

“Yeah,” is all Drew can say.

Corey pauses. “But why you?” he asks. “Why would he kill that guy but leave you and Curtis alive? Did you think about that?”

Something inside Drew jolts. That alone had been bothering him for as long as he’d been locked up.

“I don’t know,” he confesses. 

“You don’t have any ideas?”

“No,” Drew says. “I’ve been worrying he’s gonna come back and kill me, and Curtis is afraid of the same thing. That’s how he keeps a hold on you.”

“This guy is a maniac.”

Drew nods, staring down.

“To make you feel better,” Corey starts. “I don’t think he’ll be able to kill you in here. Too much security.”

“He could find a way.”

Corey shakes his head, running a finger on the phone cord. “Well, I’m no detective but I can do my best. And I’ll be here for your trial. We’re gonna get you out of here. I’ll fight for you, man.”

“Thank you, Corey. We might have a good chance of catching him in time for my trial, yanno. Keep your eyes and ears open.”

“Consider it done.”

“Be safe, Corey.”

“No problem, man.”

 

When Drew comes back into the cell, he knows he has to break the news to Curtis.

“Yanno how we kinda planned to break out of here?”

Curtis looks up at him. “Yeah?”

“I can’t do it.”

“Okay, why not?”

“My trial is soon,” Drew says. “I might actually get out and I’d rather be free than be a fugitive on the run from the cops.”

“As far as they know, you’re guilty, Drew.”

“If they have evidence against Laurence, they’ll reconsider. I have an outside person who’s gonna try to catch Laurence for me in time for my trial,   
then I’ll be set free.”

“Okay, well what about me?” Curtis asks. “I have no idea when my trial is. Hell, I don’t even have an attorney.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Drew suddenly asks. “This isn’t about you. I’m gonna get out and Laurence is gonna be convicted. That’s all that matters.”

“Listen to yourself, man, you’re obsessed,” Curtis says, his voice rising. “You don’t even care about anyone else around you!”

Drew feels his face flare up as the anger rises. “I’m obsessed?! This was your fucking idea!”

“Yeah, my idea was to escape together!” Curtis yells and makes Drew shut up. “You’d rather chase after this psychotic idiot and leave me here   
alone? News flash, he’s not going to be caught.”

Drew grips his hair and stares at the chipping cell floor. “Will you, for once, stop being such a fucking child?” he mutters.

Curtis stares at him coldly, right before shoving him into the wall with one arm and clenching a fist with the other, aiming at Drew’s face. He gets two swift punches to his face before the guards are coming in and tearing them off each other.

“Fuck you, Drew,” Curtis spits as one guard pulls him away. “You’re fucking obsessed.”

“And you’re fucking selfish!” Drew retorts, breathing heavily, but the truth hits him in the fucking face. He knows Curtis is probably more than right.

“Are you gonna turn everyone against you and leave everyone behind just to get him caught?” Curtis is still fucking talking, as the guard holding him back struggles to keep him in a grip. “First Kier, and now me, Drew? Who’s next?!”

“Shut up,” Drew stares down. “I’m doing this for our own good.”

“For whose own good?” Curtis demands. “We’re already in fucking jail, man. You need to knock off this fucking martyr complex you got going on.”

“Fuck off.”

“Catching Laurence is not gonna fix anything.”

“Shut up!” Drew yells. “It’s going to fix everything!”

“How?” Curtis demands. “How, Drew? Those people…. those people he killed are still fucking dead.” Drew hears Curtis’ voice almost break. “Luke is still dead. And Kier is still wrapped around his finger. Catching that bastard isn’t going to solve anything, not anymore. He’s done too much.”

Drew holds his head and lets Curtis run his mouth. 

And then—

“Rot in hell, Curtis. I don’t know about you, but I’m not turning my back on justice.”

Drew sees Curtis turn his head away, only to hide the tears in his eyes.

 

Curtis is sent to solitary confinement after their little fight, leaving Drew with his remaining roommates, who talk shit about him the moment he’s moved down the hall. For the majority, that is.

“Dumbass junkie,” Skeeves comments. “I knew he was gonna get busted for fighting. I could just tell by looking at him.”

Emile rolls his eyes. “Is this holier-than-thou act really worth it?”

Their banter continues as Drew sits on his bunk, arms wrapped around his legs, tears threatening to spill down his face. He holds them back,   
keeping his face hard.

Skeeves’ attention turns to Drew, much to his dismay. “Aw, is wittle Drew crying? I guess you miss your freaky boyfriend, huh. Or maybe you just miss his cock up your ass.”

Drew, not in the mood at all, manages to crack a smile at what Skeeves utters, and turns to face him. “Yeah, that’s exactly it, Skeeves. I really do miss his cock in me, and yanno what else I miss? Calling him daddy as he chokes me, and then releases his hot, steamy cum inside me.”

Skeeves, visibly revolted, fucks off. Across the room, Emile cackles at Skeeves’ reaction.

Drew sits back in triumph. Nothing wrong with making homophobes uncomfortable as fuck.

TUESDAY

Drew sees Curtis in the yard during the prisoners’ free time the following day. He’s under strict surveillance, but nothing suggests that Drew can’t speak to him.

On this whim, Drew comes over to where Curtis is sitting in the grass with his head down, his hair even more unkempt than usual. He stays a good ten feet away, eyeing the guards who are eyeing him, as well.

“Emile and Skeeves miss you.”

“I bet they do,” Curtis replies, not moving his head.

Drew sits down in the grass, still keeping his distance. “About yesterday…”

“There’s nothing really to talk about,” Curtis says. “I got angry and overreacted. And I’m sorry.”

“At least you admit it,” Drew smirks. 

Curtis rolls his eyes.

“I forgive you,” Drew says. “You weren’t totally wrong, though. About me, I mean.”

Curtis’ eyes move to Drew’s. “Drew, I’m happy you might get out. That means you’re the only one right now who can catch Laurence….and make him pay. Make things right, like you said. You were right."

Drew swallows, staring at the man in front of him, before leaning closer to capture him in a hard, wet open-mouthed kiss, which Curtis enthusiastically returned.

“Hey! No contact, inmate!”


End file.
